Resurrection
by Something Evil
Summary: Shortly after Buffy gives her life to save that of her sister and the world, the Scooby Gang must find a way to keep going. Set after "The Gift". (Please Review!)
1. Aftershocks

Part One: "Aftershocks"   
  
I've been living to see you Dying to see you, but it shouldn't be like this This was unexpected What do I do now? Could we start again, please? ( - "Jesus Christ Superstar")   
  
Angel couldn't help but feel a slightly surprising sense of elation as he made it to the front doors of the place he called home. The others were behind him, laughing, talking, and celebrating. He fought back a smile as he listened to them, each chattering excitedly about something different about the world that they had missed so much. Stopping in front of the doors, Angel turned to Wesley as a huge grin spread across his face.   
  
"Okay. Can I say it? I wanna say it." Angel's usually calm and stoic voice was full of excitement.   
  
Wesley gave him a perplexed look. "Say what?"   
  
Without hesitation, Angel shoved open the double doors, and walked into the lobby of his beloved Hyperione. All was as it had been, and it felt good to be home.   
  
"There's no place like..." The words caught in Angel's throat as his eyes fell to something that made him feel as though he had died in gone to hell. Sitting in a chair in the lobby, looking broken and sorrowful as he had never seen her before, was Willow Rosenberg. Her eyes were red and glassy, and her face was contorted into a look of pain that he could scarcely understood. He felt his unbeating heart turn cold and freeze as he eyed the redhead, and in an instant it came to him. Willow, in Los Angeles. Sitting in his lobby, with a look of absolute grief on her face. Only now did Angel's smile fade. Willow glanced up at him, her big eyes full of weary tears. "Willow?" Angel's voice was so soft that it was barely audible. Rising from her chair silently, Willow's eyes now refused to leave Angel's face. From somewhere within, the words he'd never wanted to say came:   
  
"It's Buffy."   
  
Angel sat motionless and disbelieving in the lobby, finding himself almost unable to comprehend the words he was hearing. Willow's voice faltered more now as she continued her story, and Angel saw that tears were now beginning to well up in her eyes. "...but Spike wasn't...wasn't there in time. And Dawn began to bleed, and the portal opened." Cordelia was sitting in a chair alongside Angel, dabbing her eyes with a Kleenex. She had been crying for a while now, something that Angel still hadn't begun to do. Wesley was merely sitting alongside Cordelia, looking stunned and saddened. Fred, Gunn, and Lorne were hovering back behind the reception desk, unsure of how to respond to what was happening. Willow paused now, and for a minute Angel thought she was going to break down entirely. His body felt cold, more so than usual. Buffy...his Buffy...was gone. "Buffy got there too late. And she...God..." Willow let a bitter sob escape her, and bit it back as she forced herself to go on. "She jumped. She jumped instead of Dawn. And she's d-d-d-..." Willow dropped her head into her hands, and sobbed.   
  
Angel could feel something change within him now. She was dead. Buffy, the only woman he had loved in more than two centuries of life, was gone. He would never see her again, never touch her skin, never kiss her mouth. He hadn't even said goodbye. Angel suddenly felt more guilt and sadness than he ever had before. It was a powerful feeling that not even decades of memories of tortures and killings could prepare him for. He should have been there, he told himself, by her side. He should have been there to protect Dawn. Not Spike, him. Angel could only stare ahead as he saw Cordelia move in to wrap her arms around Willow. Wesley could only sit there, unmoving and still stunned. A million thoughts were running through Angel's mind, none of which he could communicate. Feeling moisture coming to his eyes, Angel stood so quickly that his chair toppled backward. Cordelia was now hugging Willow, who was sobbing into her shoulder. The three others were now doing their best to look away, to not meet Angel's eyes. Feeling helpless and furious and grief-stricken, Angel ran up the stairs toward the roof of the Hyperion. He didn't look back at the others.   
  
The cool breeze of the Los Angeles night made Angel's silent tears cold as he sat on the rooftop, thinking of nothing other than Buffy. He remembered more clearly than anything, the first time he had laid eyes on her. She had been so young then, so innocent and vulnerable to the dark and dangerous world that was about to envelope her. He remembered how she had cried after she had returned home from her first kill. He remembered then feeling that she had just lost whatever life she had had ahead of her. This had made him desperate to help her, to protect her. When he finally met her face to face, he had loved her entirely. He remembered their first kiss not because it had been incredible, but because Buffy had brought out the monster in him that he had wanted so desperately to hide. Angel remembered her death at the hands of the Master, and the feeling that he would never see her again, and that he had failed. And then she had come back to him, back into the very world that was against her. He remembered the first and only time they had made love. It was his last memory of Buffy before she sent him to Hell.   
  
Angel wiped his face as he bitterly remembered leaving her behind in Sunnydale after graduation. He remembered that last glance at her, standing there among the crowd of survivors and cops and firemen, and thinking that he was doing the right thing in leaving her. He had seen her again briefly at various other times, but it was this time that stuck out to him now. It was the knowledge that had he not left her in the first place, she might be alive on this night. Willow would not be crying in Cordelia's arms, and there would be one more Slayer in the world. Angel felt bitter sobs rising in his throat.   
  
"I-I'm sorry." Willow's voice caused him to force this back down, and he wiped his face vigorously before turning to see the young woman sliding down beside him on the rooftop. Her eyes were red and puffy, her hair messy, but she had stopped crying now. "I'm sorry you had to find out like this," Willow told him hoarsely, but her words were hollow. "I thought it would be best if I-...if it was me." Willow sniffled. "I wasn't about to send Spike. And Giles..." Willow's lip quivered. "...I couldn't make him tell you something like this. Xander either. They're both having...a worse time with this than I am." Willow wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "Well, maybe that's not true, but I'm the only one who can form actual sentences."   
  
Angel turned to Willow, and said nothing for a moment. "There's nothing I can say to make either of us feel any better," he managed to say finally. "Buffy is...was...the only woman I've ever loved. She was the purest soul I've ever known. The way she cared for her family, and her friends..." Angel's voice trailed off, and Willow put a hesitant hand on his arm. Angel glanced at Willow. "How's Dawn?"   
  
"I'm not sure," Willow admitted, sighing ruefully. "She's quiet. She cries a lot, but we all have. She's been gone less than a day. It's hard to say how she's doing yet." Angel nodded, accepting this. Without warning, Willow broke into sobs once again. Angel put an arm around her trembling shoulders, and drew her close. "I just thought...I can go home and tell Buffy that I saw Angel. And then I remembered that she's dead, and that's why I saw you. I'm so stupid!" Willow cried for a while longer, and Angel could only sit there and hold her, waiting for it to pass.   
  
Tara Maclay sat alone in the Summers kitchen, her entire body feeling numb and cold. The two sweaters that she was wearing did nothing to ease this feeling, and she knew that it had more to do with what she was feeling inside than anything else. The kitchen was fully lit, and she had tried several times to fix herself and Dawn something to eat, but each time she had failed miserably. Every time she went to fix food, she would think: Look, a frozen pizza. But that's Buffy's frozen pizza, and Buffy's dead. And then she would start to cry again, softly but with a great deal of sadness. She knew it was silly, thinking this way and crying about it, but it made her feel guilty, making a pizza as though nothing was out of the ordinary. Willow's friend...her friend...was dead. Buffy had been one of the few people in Tara's entire life that had cared about her. That had, when she barely knew her, defended her as though she were family. And that was how Tara had come to think of Buffy, as family. Buffy was the sister she hadn't gotten, someone confident and loving and loyal to her friends no matter what. And now Buffy, the reason that she was probably still in Sunnydale, was gone.   
  
Tara sniffled again. It had been less than twenty-four hours since Buffy had left the mortal world, she thought to herself. In that time, she had helped Willow and Xander move the body (she hated thinking of it as "the body" when it was indeed her friend Buffy) and bury it, while Giles and Dawn could only stand back and weep while Anya looked on in stunned confusion. She remembered blessing the grave through her own tears, and then Willow and Xander breaking down entirely, each on one of Giles's shoulders. It had been a difficult day, and Dawn hadn't been out of her room since Willow left.   
  
Glancing at the clock, Tara noticed that it was getting late. Willow had been gone for several hours, and hadn't called. It had been difficult for Willow, leaving Sunnydale when her friends obviously needed her so badly. But in the end, she had insisted upon going to tell Angel, telling Tara privately that "the others couldn't even drive themselves there." Tara knew that Willow was right: Xander had left directly after Buffy's body was buried. He had simply run off, leaving Anya and the others standing over the grave, teary-eyed and dumbfounded. No one had heard from him since. Standing, Tara walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. Anya was curled up on the couch, sleeping somewhat fitfully. She had cried herself after Willow left, and after Giles had miserably departed for home (Tara supposed it was more likely that he had gone out drinking). It had been just Anya and Tara, with Dawn upstairs, sitting the living room watching "Friends" reruns on TV. Suddenly, Tara remembered, Anya had burst out crying.   
  
"I can't take much more," Anya had sobbed. "First Joyce and now Buffy, and now everyone's crying again and I feel like I'm going to throw up, and I can't find Xander and he can't stop crying either, and you're all sad and Willow's freaking..." She had dissolved into sobs around this time, and had put her head in a startled Tara's lap and cried even harder. Tara could only pat her head and silently cry herself.   
  
Tara jumped, startled, as the front door opened. Willow entered, looking much worse than she had when she left. Her hair was stringy and hanging limp around her pale and pasty face. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she looked much older than her twenty years at this point. She looked at Tara with sad eyes, and she noticed Anya for the first time now as well. Tossing her coat onto the nearest chair, Willow headed silently into the kitchen, and Tara followed.   
  
"How'd it go?" Tara managed to ask finally. She took a seat at the kitchen island, and Willow sat down alongside her. Tara took Willow's hand, and gave it a squeeze. Willow managed a minuscule smile.   
  
"As well as something like this can go," Willow told her. "I don't think he really understands what I mean when I say she's dead. I don't think he can comprehend it yet." Tara nodded, and said nothing. "Any word from Xander?" Tara could only shake her head.   
  
Rupert Giles had never felt anything like this in his entire life. Sitting here with his Watcher diary open, pen in hand, he felt as though there was a rock in his stomach as he found himself about to write his last entry. Four years. Buffy had lived for more than four years, and had never failed to save the day. This time had been no different, only this time, she had paid for it with her life. Giles remembered Jenny Calendar's death, and the pain that it had caused him. It was nothing compared to this. He was, in essence, a father who had lost his only beloved child. His daughter. He had never thought of her as anything less, and now his pride and joy was gone. The last memory he had of Buffy wasn't one that he had hoped for: he had always hoped his last image of her would be one in which she would be old and gray, holding his hand as he was on his deathbed. Instead, all he had was an image of her lifeless body being placed in a makeshift grave by what Giles considered his "other children." And now, here he was, alone and about to end what had been four years of his life as a Watcher to the Slayer.   
  
My Slayer, Buffy Summers, has passed away. While I understand that this diary is meant to be a record of each Slayer and her Watcher, I must go against the counsel in my last entry. Buffy Summers was more than a Slayer to me, more than a responsibility, more than a charge. She was my child. My family. And I loved her. I never understood before I became her Watcher why it becomes so painful for one to continue after his or her Slayer is gone. But now that she's gone, I feel as though nothing can make me feel as I did when she was alive. She gave her life to save a world that was more often than not against her. She died to save her sister, to save the world. I need not remind anyone that she's done this time and again, only this time the price was much higher. I hereby end the diary of Rupert Giles, and also end my term with the Watcher's Council...   
  
Giles stopped writing as there was a knock at the door, one so loud that it caused him to jump slightly. Realizing that he had been crying again, Giles wiped his tears on the back of his hand, and went to the door. He opened it to find Xander there, looking like he had been to Hell and back. The boy's hair was messy, and his clothes were wrinkled. He was pale and pasty, and his eyes bore dark circles beneath them. His eyes were glassy, obviously from many tears.   
  
"Xander." Giles could find nothing else to say. "It's late. And I'm really not in the mood for company."   
  
"Whatcha up to?" Xander asked, obviously not understanding exactly what Giles was saying. Giles smelled the distinct odor of various kinds of liquor on Xander's breath, and realized that the boy had obviously been drinking, and quite a lot. Xander stumbled, and caught himself on the door hinge before he fell on his face. He laughed miserably. "Got any whiskey?"   
  
"I think you've had quite enough." Giles sighed sadly. Xander stumbled inside, pushing past Giles and flopping down on the couch. "Xander, how much have you had to drink tonight?"   
  
"Haha...uhm, a few. Not a lot. Only when I started thinking about Buffy. So, one every...three minutes or so, for the past little while." Xander appeared to be deep in thought as he was apparently trying to count up the drinks in his head. Not really listening anymore, Giles instinctively went to the kitchen and started making coffee. Xander pulled himself to his feet. "You think she knew, Giles? What we did, I mean. When we buried her. You think she knew we didn't even bother to clean her up, or change her clothes or anything? You think she knew that only Tara had flowers?"   
  
Giles was stunned by Xander's words. He hadn't thought bout this, and didn't want to. How would Buffy react to knowing that she had been buried in the jeans and sweater that she had died in, and that it had been Tara who had knelt over her grave and whispered a pagan blessing, and lay a small white flower over the fresh dirt? How would she react to knowing that no one had prayed except the person she had known the least amount of time? Giles didn't want to think about it. "I don't know, Xander."   
  
"You think she's in Heaven or Hell?" Xander asked after a moment. He sniffled now. "I like to think she's up in Heaven, hanging out with some angels and with Joyce." Xander could fill his eyes felling with tears in spite of his drunken state. "But Willow says that maybe she's in a...in another place..." Xander could go no further, and began to cry.   
  
This gave Giles even more horrific things to think about as he somehow managed to move the now passed-out Xander onto his couch a few minutes later. He didn't cry, at least not until he was in his own bed. In spite of Xander's snoring, he buried his face in his pillow to mask the sound of his weeping, so that no one could hear. Giles knew that Buffy would hate it if she knew he was crying over her.   
  
"Wake up. You've got a visitor." The sharp voice of the guard drew Faith violently from sleep. Opening her eyes, she felt her mind fully awaken after only a few short seconds. She lay there for a moment, and finally sat up to see the guard, a large black man named Charlie, looking at her impatiently. Faith yawned, and stretched as she stood. She had been here for more than a year now, and from what she understood she would be there quite a while longer. She had been on fairly good behavior, and because she was listed as a violent criminal had a cell by herself. Faith waited patiently for Charlie to unlock the cell, and escort her down the long hall.   
  
It occurred to Faith as she walked that it was well past dark outside, and that it was more than likely a few hours before sunup. A glance at the clock on the wall told her that she was exactly half an hour away from sunrise. For a moment she was perplexed: the only visitor she ever had was Angel, and she hadn't seen him in quite some time now. And when he did stop by, his visits were brief. Faith saw Angel sitting in the first chair on the opposite side of the glass, and she knew instantly that something was wrong. She could see it all over his pale face. Angel looked away from her when he saw her, and Faith felt her heart sink suddenly. It was one of those weird things that occurred occasionally now. She had been doing a lot of reading, and a lot of things that she had done in the past pained her now. The guilt was still there, the sadness, all of it. Angel looked as though he was sharing in her feeling right about now. Faith slid down into the chair in front of Angel, and picked up the phone against the wall.   
  
"This doesn't look like it's a friendly visit." Faith said immediately. Angel said nothing for a long moment, and Faith knew that she was right. "Tell me." She knew that nothing but bad news was coming her way now.   
  
"I don't know...exactly how to say what I'm about to say. Part of me still..." Angel stopped, and Faith swore she heard him sniffle. It was around this point that she realized what this was about. Buffy. Something's happened to Buffy. Two years ago, Faith would have laughed at the idea. Now, it scared her. "And I don't know how you're going to react. Faith, there was this...goddess." Faith listened quietly to Angel's tale of Glory, and of bleeding Dawn. Finally, as Angel began to talk about the concept of Buffy being made from Dawn and Buffy being able to close the portal, Angel's voice broke, and he was silent for a long while. Faith waited, and saw a tear fall down Angel's cheek. "She's dead."   
  
"Jesus." The words hit Faith like a ton of bricks. She sat back in her chair, unable to move for a few moments. In a flash she remembered a million different things. She remembered the beginning of her relationship with Buffy. Her need to connect with this other Slayer. She remembered how she eventually grew jealous of Buffy, wanted things in her life that she could never have. And then she had grown to hate Buffy. And now, a year since the last time she had seen Buffy, Buffy was gone.   
  
And Faith found herself less than thrilled about it. "Angel...I'm so sorry." Angel looked up at the Slayer.   
  
"So am I, Faith," Angel said.   
  
"Who will she be? The next Slayer, I mean," Faith said, finding herself curious.   
  
"There won't be," Angel told her. "The line...it falls to you. You're it, Faith. You're the Slayer."   
  
"Damn." Faith looked stricken. "Fat lot of good I'm doing, sitting here behind bars." She looked down at her hands. "I guess I just assumed B would always be there to fight the good fight. And then she went and got herself killed." Faith felt a slight bit of anger rising within her. This was so like Buffy, she told herself, trying to play the hero all the time no matter what it meant. "She should've thrown in little sis." Angel said nothing to this. The look on his face was one that he couldn't read. "So here I am, sitting on my ass in jail while the vampires get their free run of everything?"   
  
"I-I don't know." Angel looked away from her as he said this. "We're not really in the loop on this sort of thing. The world needs a Slayer."   
  
"And Buffy was the Slayer," Faith said, her usually strong voice tight with emotion that   
  
Angel had never really seen before. "I'm just the trash that polluted that title, remember? I'm the evil the Slayer fights." Faith let out a rueful sigh. "Guess B didn't think about what she was leaving behind in her old position before she took the plunge." Faith could feel herself growing upset now. "Angel, look at me. I'm a convicted felon who's going to spend the rest of her natural life in prison, making special friends with Bertha the Weightlifter. I can't save the world. I can't be the Slayer."   
  
"You think it's that easy?" Angel snapped. "You think it's easy for me, telling you this? You think I can stand it that Buffy's gone?" Faith, taken aback by Angel's sudden anger, looked down at her hands.   
  
"Cochran himself couldn't get me out of here," Faith told Angel quietly. "So I suggest you start working on another plan, pronto. 'Cause I'm not going anywhere." And with that, Faith hung up her end of the phone, stood, and left the room, the guard close on her heels. Angel sat there for a few moments, unsure of what to do with himself. Only when he realized that it was close to sunrise did he get up to leave.   
  
Xander was drawn from his deep and troubled sleep by the sound of pounding on a door. He tasted the bitter flavor of liquor in his throat before he felt the pain of his headache, and for a moment he found himself swimming in darkness. Forcing his eyes open, he found himself not in his own bed, but lying in Giles's apartment. A hot arrow of pain seemed to stab into his forehead, and he cursed under his breath as he realized that the knocking on the door wasn't a pounding at all, but a gentle sort of knock that had merely been magnified by his newly hungover state. From what felt like a great distance, Xander could hear the sounds of someone taking a shower. Deciding it was Giles, Xander stumbled to his feet, and felt his stomach give a nauseating lurch. Squinting, he finally managed to pull the door open, only to be blinded by the brightness of the outside world. Standing at the door was the rest of the Scoobies, or what remained of them.   
  
For a moment, Xander forgot everything. He glanced, smiling, at Willow, whose face was decidedly blank on this morning. She held in her hands a doughnut box. Standing immediately behind her was Tara, whose expression was grave, but not cold. Standing beside Tara, holding tightly to her hand, was Dawn. The child looked absolutely shellshocked, and it was this that brought Xander back into reality. Remembering, the smile faded from his lips as the awful truth came rushing back: Buffy was gone. Moving aside, he let the women in. He realized finally that Anya had been making herself as small as possible behind Tara and Dawn as she brought up the rear.   
  
It was Willow who managed to break the silence once the door was closed: "Uh, hey." She managed a weak and grave smile as she surveyed Xander's state. "Sleep here often?"   
  
Willow sat the doughnut box on the kitchen bar, and Tara silently headed to the kitchen and began the process of making coffee. Dawn hovered near the bar, glancing around silently. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her hair was messy. Wordlessly, she drifted over to the couch, where she curled herself up into a ball, and still said nothing. "Where's Giles?"   
  
"Shower, I think," Xander muttered. His head was killing him.   
  
"Where were you, Xander? I was worried." Anya's voice seemed unchanged, but her manner was strangely solemn. Her words were sharp as usual, but Xander could feel the meaning behind them.   
  
"I was...out." It was all Xander could think to say.   
  
"Drowning his sorrows, or so it would appear." Giles appeared in the doorway, freshly showered and looking like the same old Giles. Only now, everyone silently noticed, there was a sort of hollowness in his eyes where a spark had once been. It was the look, Xander realized, of a man who had lost his child. Giles slid down at his desk without anymore words, and Xander noticed that he quickly placed a small leather-bound book in one of the drawers.   
  
"We brought breakfast, Mr. Giles," Tara said softly. "We didn't know if anyone would want to eat, but I thought that someone might be hungry." Everyone glanced at Tara, and Xander pitied the girl for a moment. Here she was, unsure of how to act in this time of loss, and she was offering breakfast.   
  
Giles managed a weak smile, and said with genuine gratefulness, "Thank you, Tara." Tara nodded to herself, glad to have this grieving man's approval, and she began searching the fridge for milk.   
  
"When are we going to talk about what happens next? Because this silence is really uncomfortable, and I don't like how only Tara is trying to make things better. Willow's all frowny, and Xander is obviously hungover, and Giles looks like he couldn't go two rounds with a kitten. And I'm worried about what happens next, but no one is saying anything about it because everyone's still not realized that Buffy's really dead." Anya's eyes scanned the room as she spoke, and each cast their eyes downward at the mention of their fallen friend's name.   
  
"Sh-she's right, you know." It was Dawn who spoke, though no one seemed to realize it at first. Finally, all eyes fell to the girl, who was now sitting up on the couch. Her eyes were shining with fresh tears. "B-buffy wouldn't want us to sit around crying. She'd want us to go on. To figure out what happens next."   
  
"I can't believe you guys." Willow glanced around the room, and her gaze fell finally to Dawn and Anya. "Buffy died. And you guy want to talk battle plans?"   
  
"Willow..." Xander began.   
  
"No!" Willow cried, her voice suddenly shrill like that of a child. "Glory's gone, and Buffy stopped the hell dimension. There is no Big Evil, and all you guys can think about is what we're going to slay next? We don't have a Slayer! We're nothing without her!"   
  
"Th-that's not true." Giles glanced at Willow. "We don't have Buffy." Everyone turned as Giles spoke these words. It was Xander who grasped what exactly the Watcher meant first.   
  
"How can she slay?" Tara asked from the kitche. "She's in prison."   
  
Giles opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment there came a rap at the door. The Scoobies jumped at the sound, and it was Giles who finally got up and made it to the door. Opening it, he found himself staring into the bored and stoic faces of several of his peers from the Watchers Council: Quentin Travers was heading the pack. With him were several people that Giles had met only once or twice.   
  
"Mr. Giles." Travers didn't waste any time. "A pleasure to see you again, even if it is on such dreary business. May we come in?"   
  
"Must we do this just now, Quentin?" Giles already knew what the answer was. The Council considered Slayer's nothing more than pawns in a game of chess, and Buffy was no different. Little did they care about what her Watcher and friends were feeling. A Slayer, they always thought, didn't need friends. So the Scooby Gang meant nothing to them. Giles felt hot anger rising within him as Travers pushed past him and into the apartment, his six Watcher cronies following close on his heels. All wore grave expressions.   
  
The Scoobies watched in silence as the Watchers entered, and stood oddly about as they surveyed the apartment.   
  
"Mr. Giles, is this audience really necessary? Surely you could do something about them," Travers muttered, staring with distate around the room at the former Slayer's friends.   
  
Giles's face hardened. "Anything you say to me, they shall find out later from me. Either way, they'll know what's going on." The Scoobies all shared a look of satisfaction at Giles defending them. "Mind you that they've fought more battles than all of you combined."   
  
"As you wish, Mr. Giles," Travers said, sliding down at Giles's desk. The rest of the Council members scattered, finding empty chairs of their own. The only woman among them was glaring at various members of the Scooby Gang with a cold, harsh eye. "Well...I suppose we should get this finished as quickly as possible. Have you your diary?"   
  
"In the drawer, by your elbow." Giles didn't move from where he stood, fixed between Willow and Tara, who were frowning at the other Watchers.   
  
"Quite." Travers pulled the diary from the drawer, and handed it to the frowning woman nearby. "I suppose it will be of more use to Miss Carnahan than it is to you now." Travers nodded at the woman, who was now busily thumbing through the pages. "She has much to learn if she is to be a Watcher of the next Slayer."   
  
"The Slayer isn't in need of a Watcher, Quentin. She's twenty years old. You know the rules," Giles said coldly. "And yet still, she's in prison. How can she be the Slayer when she's behind bars?"   
  
"Ah, but that's where it's interesting, Rupert," Quentin Travers said, smiling rather unpleasantly. "When Miss Summers died, the Slayer lineage fell to the rogue Slayer, Faith. Only when Faith is killed shall the next Slayer be called. And as you're all well aware, Faith is little more than a dangerous bundle of trouble, and she's of no use to us even when not incarcerated." Travers examined his fingernails in a bored way. "So, the matter will be taken care of. By tomorrow morning, there will be a new Slayer called."   
  
"What exactly are you saying, Quentin?" Giles partially already knew what Travers was going to say.   
  
"The Council has dispatched its special operations unit. They arrive at midnight tonight. Orders are to terminate Faith immediately." Travers said this with a small smile of satisfaction.   
  
"Kill her? You're going to kill her?" It was, surprisingly, Willow who spoke. "That's not...that's...I'm too upset to think of a word right now, but that's what it is."   
  
"You hate Faith, Will," Xander reminded her.   
  
"With a fiery passion, the homicidal tramp," Willow muttered. "But that's not the point! You're just going to kill her, and then call the next Slayer? Is that the best plan the Council could come up with?"   
  
"And what would you suggest?" It was the female Watcher who spoke up. "Allow that lunatic back onto the streets to cause more harm? She's already dragged our Council's name through the mud more times than we can count. At least with Miss Summers we still had some measure of control. But if it weren't for Mr. Giles here, there's no telling how Miss Summers would have..."   
  
"Get out," Dawn said suddenly and sharply. "Don't you talk about my sister. What gives you the right to say her name? What makes you think you can talk about her? You never did anything for her. You bossed her around. But if it wasn't for her, you wouldn't be here now. So just get out."   
  
"Orders, from a child? She is every bit like her..." Travers began.   
  
"You heard her," Giles said suddenly. "Leave my home, and never come back, Travers. You want to kill Faith, that's your business. Don't drag me into it." Giles went to the door, and opened it silently. "You'll find my resignation from your Council in the diary. Goodbye, Quentin."   
  
"I'd hoped that you'd stay with us, Rupert." Travers rose, and the other members of the Council followed. "Goodbye, Rupert." And without another word, he and the others were gone. Giles closed the door quietly, and went back to his desk without a word.   
  
"They can't just kill her...can they?" Tara asked, turning to the others. "Isn't there some sort of rule..." Her voice trailed off. Suddenly, without warning, Giles broke down sobbing once again. It was only Anya who moved to comfort him.   
  
As night fell over Los Angeles, Wesley Wyndham-Price found himself sitting alone in the lobby of the Hyperion. Angel had come back from his visit to Faith sullen and sad, and had spoken not a word to his colleagues before going off to bed. Cordelia had been oddly silent for most of the day, and Fred had been busy settling in. Gunn had been distant, and he was obviously a bit worried at seeing Angel so upset. Lorne had come by, but hadn't talked extensively. And now, Wesley was sitting alone, pondering what exactly was going to happen in regards to the Slayer situation. He remembered his days with the Watchers Council, and he knew that with Buffy Summers now dead, there was certainly some confusion among the Watchers. But now that he was out of the loop, he really knew nothing of it. Wesley's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car pulling to a halt outside of the hotel, and a door closing a moment later.   
  
A moment later, the door opened, and a young man that Wesley had never seen before entered. There was an air of intelligence about him, and his handsome face had a feeling of sadness about it. Wesley stood, and greeted the young man at the desk.   
  
"Can I help you?" he asked quietly.   
  
"This is...Angel Investigations, correct?" the young man asked, his British accent taking Wesley by complete surprise. He looked at his hand, where something was indeed scribbled. "You...help the helpless, if my sources are correct." He smiled softly.   
  
"Um, yes," Wesley said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "And how can I help you?"   
  
"You're Wesley, then. Wesley Wyndham-Price?" The young man extended his hand. "David Cromwell." Hesitantly, Wesley shook the young man's hand. "I haven't much time..." He glanced at his watch, and then back at Wesley. "We've got about two hours before they arrive, so we have to move quickly. But I understood that there were...more of you."   
  
"Time before what? Two hours before who arrives? Move where?" Wesley was perplexed. "I don't understand."   
  
"All right. Listen, and listen carefully. I need to speak with Angel, and I need to speak with him now. The life of the Slayer is on the line, and if I...we...don't do something in the next hour or two, there's going to be a new Slayer by tomorrow morning. Goodbye Faith, hello Betty Sue of Smallville. Now if you don't mind, I would like very much to speak with..."   
  
"What?" Angel's voice seemed to echo through the lobby as he entered, eyeing Wesley and this new stranger, David Cromwell, with a suspicious eye.   
  
"Listen to me. My name is David Cromwell, and I'm with the Watchers Council. I discovered that there's a plan afoot to terminate Faith, so that a new Slayer will be activated," Cromwell told Angel, cutting directly to the chase. "A special team from the Council has been dispatched to see that she is properly disposed of."   
  
"Huh?" Angel blinked once or twice, not really comprehending what the young man was saying.   
  
"Did I stutter?" The new Englishman's voice rose slightly, and Wesley was slightly surprised to see someone using such a harsh tone with Angel. But then, Wesley reasoned, this young man didn't know Angel. Not like he did. "Once more, and pay attention. This is urgent. It's a matter of life and death, and I'd prefer the former for all of us. In about two hours, a special unit from London's Council will arrive, and proceed to end the life of the current Slayer in order to bring forth the new one. They're going to try to kill her."   
  
"Faith," Angel said softly, the information sinking in for the first time. Gunn had appeared now, Cordelia not far behind. Both had heard the stranger's raised voice, and were curious to see what was happening. Or, more accurately, they were curious to see Angel beat him down. "The Council is trying to kill her?"   
  
"And there was much rejoicing as the vampire realized what I've been saying for ten minutes!" Cromwell was growing impatient, and Angel merely stood there, puzzling over this new information. His thoughts were jumbled, and for a moment he wondered if there was anything to be done about the situation. Faith was the Slayer, and the Slayer was the business of the Watchers Council. But then, Angel remembered, Faith had wanted to get better. She had wanted to become a person again. And now, in the blink of an eye, that was about to be taken away from her.   
  
Angel walked to the front desk that Cordelia now sat on top of, and glanced around at the others. Cromwell was still standing in the exact same spot, his blue eyes following the vampire without missing a beat.   
  
"  
  
Not that I...question your motives, Mr. Cromwell," Wesley spoke up, fidgeting slightly with his hands. "But you seem to be rather knowledgeable about the operations of the Council. And if I recall correctly, you are the son of Vanessa Cromwell. The same son that was thrown out of the Council two years ago for disorderly conduct..."   
  
"And you think that would make me want to help the Council? I'd like nothing more than to watch them burn. I also believe that killing the current Slayer isn't exactly the greatest idea." Cromwell pulled from the pocket of his coat a book, and tossed it to Wesley. "Aramaic. It should take you some time, because as I understand it, you're no Rupert Giles. But well enough, still." He turned back to Angel. "I figure I'm about to go bust open a state prison. You coming, Big Fella?" Angel glanced at him for a moment, and then turned to gone.   
  
"Right there with you, man," Gunn muttered, as he, Angel, and David Cromwell left the Hyperion on their rescue mission. As soon as they were gone, Cordelia watched Wesley silently pick up the phone, and dial a number.   
  
Faith sat on the edge of her bunk, thumbing through a magazine in a bored sort of way. It had been a long day, and she'd had way too much time to think. As much as she hated to admit it, she didn't like the idea that there wasn't a Slayer on the streets, free in the world to protect it from the forces of darkness. She hated it that she, the only Slayer, was sitting on her butt in prison for what would most likely be the rest of her life, and that by then the apocalypse might have already come and gone. She knew that averting that sort of thing wasn't her area...that had always been Buffy's trick. As she flung her magazine onto the ground, Faith tucked her knees up to her chest, and rested her chin on them. In all this time, she had rarely thought of Buffy. She kept herself busy, but now the face of the newly deceased Slayer was clear and bitter in her mind. Faith remembered her arrival in Sunnydale, and her surprise that Buffy Summers was, in spite of all that she'd heard, a bit of a priss. She had found Buffy uptight and a bit too worried about everything. They hadn't gotten along. And then, by some grace of God, they had. And that bonding had led to what Faith knew was her own downfall. One night of fun ended with the blood of an innocent bystander on her hands.   
  
Buffy had tried to help her after that, Buffy and Angel both. But by then Faith's anger at the world around her had come full circle, and she hated Buffy and everything that she stood for. Faith remembered that hatred now, something that she had lost long ago. There had been times during her stay in prison that she wanted nothing more than to speak with Buffy, face to face, and tell her how sorry she was. But Faith knew somewhere inside that Buffy wouldn't have forgiven her. That she couldn't have. And that hurt worse than Buffy stabbing her in the stomach.   
  
Faith was brought from her reverie by the sound of a door opening and closing at the end of the hall. Not moving, she waited. Charlie appeared at the door to her cell, frowning and looking even more mad at the world than usual. He eyed Faith, and a small smile sprung to his lips. It was that smile that told Faith something was up. In more than a year here, Faith had never seen Charlie smile. Not once. Charlie said nothing as he opened the door to her cell.   
  
"C'mon," he said, nodding for her to get up. Hesitantly, Faith rose, cracking her knuckles as she did so. Something was definitely wrong. She found herself, a few moments later, being handcuffed by the guard, something that didn't happen very often. Irritated and very aware that something was up, Faith allowed herself to be led down a hall that she hadn't been down in quite a long time: the hall which led to the interrogation rooms. Charlie was now whistling as he escorted her, and Faith allowed herself to be led into a small room at the end of the hall. The lights were bright in the room, and in the corner stood three men in their mid-forties. All were dressed entirely in black, and all seemed to sneer as Faith entered and was pretty much shoved into a chair by the guard. Charlie tossed the keys to the handcuffs to the man nearest Faith.   
  
"Be sure and take 'em off. Make it look like a prison fight," Charlie said, still smiling brightly. Faith understood fully now that she was in trouble. And without another word, Charlie left her alone and doomed.   
  
"Faith," the tallest of the men said as the door closed behind the guard. His accent was thick and obviously English, and this told Faith everything she needed to know. The Watchers Council was making good on old promises. "As justice goes, this is fairly poetic, wouldn't you say?" Without warning, the man grabbed Faith by her hair, and flung her from where she sat. She hit the cold floor hard, and swore she felt her shoulder dislocating. She groaned, but refused to cry out. "You ruined our Council. The name of the Slayer and the Watcher mean nothing now. And now, we get to ruin you."   
  
"Yeah, because it worked so well last time you tried it," Faith said acidly, staring daggers into the men that stood around the room. She was managing now to pull herself up against the wall.   
  
"But this time, there will be no rescue, you see," another one of the men spoke up. "Buffy Summers isn't here to protect you from the Council. Nor is her vampire lover. Nor her Watcher. Why, Mr. Giles didn't even bat an eye when we told him of our plan." It was this that caught Faith's attention, but didn't surprise her much. "He's too busy grieving over his Slayer. A good one."   
  
"A good one?" Faith laughed, and the men were surprised by this reaction. "If she was such a good Slayer, then why'd she turn her back on you guys? How come you guys fired Giles? How come she had you negotiating with her? That's not in the chain of command, I take it."   
  
"You know nothing of what you speak." Faith wasn't sure which of the men spoke, but she could hear the uncertainty in his voice.   
  
"You talk about Buffy like she's a saint now," Faith could feel a new breed of anger that she'd never known bubbling up inside of her. "But you didn't know her. All you ever did was try to control her. You tried to limit her. She did more for this sorry excuse for a planet than you bastards could ever dream of, and you hated her for it. And now you want me out of the way, so you'll have a new mouse to bat around. Am I right?" The men said nothing. Instead, one nodded to another, and pulled a knife from his pocket. Faith fell quiet now. She had pictured her death a hundred times over in her mind, and it had never been like this. She'd never really thought she'd die screaming and alone.   
  
Faith closed her eyes, feeling fear for the first time in quite a while. But at the same time, she realized that perhaps these men underestimated the abilities of a Slayer. Keeping this in mind, Faith listened as she heard the man with the knife drawing closer. Her eyes still closed, she thrust her foot out quickly, and felt a sickening crack and a cry from Knife Guy. Opening her eyes, she saw the man fall face first onto his knife. She winced, glancing away, as the other two ran to his side.   
  
"Murderous little bitch," the one who seemed to be the leader hissed. "We'll see how well you fight." And with that, he pulled a needle from his pocket. "I thought perhaps you'd make it easy on everyone, but how often do you make things easy?" Faith struggled to move away from this man, and she fell over into the new pool of blood by the now-dead man's body in the process. Faith cried out in disgust and fear, and she could see from the corner of her eye the man with the needle inching toward her.   
  
Faith wasn't sure what happened next, because she was busy hiding her face in fear. She heard the slamming of a door, and both of the still-living assassins yelling and cursing. She heard the sound of punching and then the sound of a body hitting the floor. The same sound repeated a moment later.   
  
"Girl's got some skill," she heard an African-American voice say.   
  
"That was...slightly easier than I thought it would be," Faith heard an unfamiliar British man say. "I thought they'd be more prepared. The Council must be desperate."   
  
"Faith." Faith felt herself being pulled up from the ground by a pair of strong hands, and she opened her eyes reluctantly to see Angel staring back at her in a relieved way. She said nothing, only staring at the vampire. "Are you all right?"   
  
"Five by five," Faith muttered. "Or I will be as soon as someday gets me out of these damn cuffs." She glanced over at Gunn, whose face was unfamiliar to her. She nodded to the keys on the table, and Gunn picked them up, tossing them to Angel. Faith turned around, and Angel set her free. Faith's eyes now fell to the Englishmen, who was kneeling beside one of the unconscious bodies.   
  
"We'd better get moving," the young man muttered, "This kind of group works in teams. Odds are, there's more than one team. A backup plan, just in case she makes it out. Odds are, they're waiting for us."   
  
With Charlie's keys in hand, Angel leading the way, the group left the interrogation room and headed off down another hall, which Faith told them lead to the parking lot area. Charlie had keys to everything...the trick was figuring out which one was which. The door was locked, and Faith couldn't help but glance back over her shoulder as Angel fiddled with the lock.   
  
" 'Scuse me." The one that Faith heard Angel refer to as Gunn pushed his way past the rest of the quartet, and pulled a small pistol from his pocket, complete with a silencer. Wordlessly, he shot the lock off of the door, and opened it, stepping out.   
  
"I like him," Faith muttered as she followed Gunn and Angel, the young Englishman following behind her.   
  
There was a small convertible parked at the curb, and Angel hurriedly got behind the wheel. Faith climbed inside quickly, followed by the others. Gunn was looking around now, making sure that they weren't being followed. His gun was still in hand. Faith laughed aloud as Angel started the car and tore out of the parking lot. She leaned back in her seat in the back, and let the breeze go through her hair. She was free. She sat there, saying nothing, as Angel drove through the busy night-time streets of Los Angeles.   
  
It was nightfall in the Summers home when a ringing phone pierced the silence that had fallen over the house. It was during dinner, which consisted tonight of greasy Chinese food and soda, that the call came. It had been Anya's suggestion, this sort of group dinner, and though everyone had been slightly uncomfortable with the idea, they had complied. It was an awkward meal. Xander ate exactly two bites of lo mein. Dawn busied herself smashing a fortune cookie into tiny bits but not speaking. Giles ate, but the entire time seemed wrapped in a cloud of sadness that refused to go away. Willow picked at her food, and it very rarely found its way to her mouth. Anya slurped soup and tried to pretend that things were fine, while Tara tried her best to get people to eat while she herself didn't touch her own food at all. And then, amidst the heavy silence was the ringing phone. The Scooby Gang all jumped at this sound, and it was Willow who finally rose and went to the phone.   
  
"Summers residence. Willow speaking," Willow said softly. Her voice was completely and totally devoid of any sort of emotion. Willow said nothing for a few moments, while the rest of the group watched her unchanging facial expression. After a moment, she furrowed her brow, and held the phone out to Giles, who took it from her after a moment.   
  
"Yes? Oh." Everyone watched Giles for some indication of what was happening, and Willow slinked back to her seat looking troubled.   
  
"I see. No, I don't. That's not...no!" Giles was shouting into the phone now, and the others were watching with a sort of strange fear rising in the pits of their stomachs. "Fine. But it won't do much good," Giles said finally. He hung up the phone, and glanced down at his hands. Without a word he stood, threw down his napkin, and left the house, slamming the door behind him. The Scoobies listened in silence, and realized with horror that Giles was sitting on the porch of the house cursing and crying. Everyone glanced around at one another.   
  
"Someone should go out there," Willow muttered quietly. Without another word, she cleared her plate in the garbage can, and headed upstairs to the bedroom that she and Tara had been sharing in the home in the days following Buffy's demise.   
  
"More bad news," Dawn said quietly. "I think Giles is...losing it."   
  
"He's grieving, Dawnie," Tara told the girl. "We all are."   
  
No one seemed to notice, Xander thought in sad amusement, that he was gone from the kitchen table and sliding down beside an already calm Giles in a chair on the Summers porch. Giles had taken off his glasses and was now cleaning them in an almost neurotic way, but Xander said nothing of it. Xander was silent for a long while, unsure of whether to press Giles for information or not.   
  
"That was...Angel," Giles admitted finally with a heavy sigh. "The Council's plans seem to have been thwarted. Faith is alive, and out of prison. And Angel seems to think it would be best if she were here."   
  
"And you think it's a bad thing?" Xander felt an odd tug of guilt about the subject of Faith. It wasn't because she was evil, necessarily. It was because, plain and simple, he had lost his virginity to a lunatic. It was something he didn't think about often, but when he did it was a bitter thing. He knew his track record with women wasn't all that great: he had loved Buffy for years, he recalled, and never got anywhere. He had slept with Faith, only to have her try to kill him a few weeks later. He had been with Cordelia, whose heart he had broken. And now, here he was, engaged to Anya the Ex-Vengeance Demon. It was this that made him feel worse, the idea that he was engaged and that while he should have been celebrating, he was mourning the death of the first girl he had ever loved.   
  
"It's...complicated," Giles said, turning to him. "Watchers, when their Slayer dies, typically take on no more assignments afterward. Most Watchers will never have a Slayer, but those that do are considered...lucky." Giles sniffled, but fought back tears quite bravely. "The Council wants Faith dead. I wonder if it would have been just as well to let them."   
  
"But she's...good now, right?" Xander asked.   
  
"So I'm told," Giles said to the boy. "Angel believes it wholeheartedly. And that's what he was calling about. He wishes for Faith to come to Sunnydale. It wasn't so much him asking for me to look after her that bothered me. It was the idea that she's replacing Buffy."   
  
"She could never replace Buffy, Giles. You know that," Xander's words were calm but strong. The Watcher turned away from Xander, avoiding his eyes at all costs.   
  
"I know that." Giles cleared his throat for punctuation. "It's just...my Slayer is gone. And yet I'm expected to continue on with this other girl, and care for her as I did Buffy. And I just don't know if that's possible."   
  
"No one's asking you to make Marcia Brady out of Faith." It was the best way Xander could put it.   
  
"There's another Watcher, one that informed Angel of the situation. And he also presented Angel and his groupmates with a very ancient text. One that..." Giles's voice trailed off. "...there's nothing in it that hasn't come to pass. It was written in the time of Christ, and it has never been wrong. And this Watcher is certain that Faith is to do something that will somehow..." Giles shook his head. "Why am I saying this? Listen to me! A respected Watcher, on flights of fancy!"   
  
"Faith will what?" Xander felt cold suddenly, even in the summer warmth. Giles blinked several times, and turned back to the boy.   
  
"That she will be redeemed," Giles said.   
  
"They really think a stint in jail has changed her that much?" Xander was incredulous.   
  
"I don't know. Perhaps not."   
  
"Then how can she be..."   
  
"Perhaps it's not her time in prison that will change her." Giles and Xander chewed on this idea for what felt like a great while, and Giles chuckled bitterly after a moment. "I'm getting too old for this." He took off his glasses, and began cleaning them. "I've been Watcher to a Slayer longer than most other Watchers could dream of, and here I am being sent another. A homicidal one, at that."   
  
"Then don't take her." It was simple, at least in Xander's mind.   
  
"And what would we do then? Allow the demons to override the town, and die horrible deaths at the hands of creatures pouring from the Hellmouth?" Giles put his glasses back on for punctuation. "I'll take my risks with Faith."   
  
In her bedroom above this softly spoken conversation, Willow sat with her window open, listening to the conversation between the Watcher and her best friend. What she heard, she didn't like all that much. She didn't like the idea of relying on Faith for safety. A tiny voice in the back of Willow's mind was telling her that she could protect the others just as well, with her skill in magick. And maybe Tara could be useful as well. It wasn't like they had no defense at all without a Slayer. A Slayer just made the circle complete. Chewing her lower lip, Willow rose from her seat on what had been Joyce Summers's bed, and went to a bookshelf on the far wall. There, casually laid across the top, were several spellbooks. Hesitantly, Willow put her hand out to pick one up, but as she did, a chill ran down her spine. Shaking her head, she went back to her seat on the bed, her mind now full of possibilities.   
  
Faith found herself standing in a brightly lit room, which she soon enough recognized as the library of Sunnydale High School. Something within her mind told her that she shouldn't be there, that the school was long since destroyed. But still, she found herself feeling oddly comforted here, and she went to the long wooden table that had gotten so much use before the school had been blown up. She ran her hand along its smooth surface, remembering how Giles had always had his books lying everywhere. Buffy would sometimes do her homework here, and this was where the Scooby Gang concocted all of their plans.   
  
"Looks empty, doesn't it?" A voice rang out through the silence, and seemed to echo throughout the room and inside Faith's mind. Whirling, Faith saw Buffy standing atop the stairs which led into the stacks in the adjacent room. She was leaning against the railing of the small stairway, smiling softly at her fellow Slayer. In spite of herself, Faith smiled as well. "I guess it kind of would be."   
  
"Isn't it a little lonely?" The words came from Faith's mouth without her really realizing it. "Maybe a little cold, too."   
  
"What's it like where you are?" Buffy descended the stairs, seeming to almost float down them. Her face was calm, almost affectionate.   
  
"A little scary," Faith admitted finally. "It's dark, and everyone around me is grieving. But it's warm here, and there's lots of company. Beats the hell out of being by yourself."   
  
"It gets better," Buffy said, smiling reassuringly. "I remember it gets better. A little hard at first." Buffy moved toward Faith now, and slid down at the table. Scattered around it now were stacks of books, some so high that they seemed to wobble. "Awful lot of stuff for something so simple, don't you think?"   
  
"I guess," Faith admitted. "I didn't know it was going to take this much."   
  
"Me either." Buffy glanced around at the library. "But you can do it. Whatever it takes, right?"   
  
"Sure," Faith said, feeling a little unnerved now. Faith picked up a nearby book, and opened it. Irritated at first glance, she closed it, and extended the book to Buffy. "Isn't this more your thing? Being Miss Nancy Drew and all, saving the world?"   
  
"Not anymore." Buffy's voice was almost sad in a way, and her eyes spoke volumes when Faith looked at her. "You know the drill. One dies, the next one's called. But you've got a head start."   
  
"So I've heard," Faith muttered. She glanced around the library again. "There's no way around it, is there. It's not going to go away."   
  
"No." Buffy stared into Faith's eyes. "Not until you're dead, like me." Buffy smiled. "But hey, miles to go before you sleep, remember?"   
  
Faith bolted upright from sleep, her body feeling numb and foreign for the moment. She felt her hair mat against the back of her neck with sweat, and she groaned. It was unaturally hot in this room within the Hyperion, just down the hall from Cordelia. Faith had no idea how long she had been sleeping, but it felt like forever. Through the drawn curtains, Faith could see the beginnings of light in the sky, and she knew that she'd been asleep for a few hours at least. Groaning, she pulled herself into a sitting position, and looked around. The room was sparsely decorated, but the sheets were clean. Faith noted with sleepy amusement as she lay upon them that they smelled strongly of fabric softener, and she realized that someone must have washed some sheets specifically for her. Faith shivered in spite of her sweating, and stood abruptly. She didn't like borrowing clothes, particularly from Cordelia, but for the moment she had no choice. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a peasant top, she cursed mentally. Sure, the prison garb was gone, but was now replaced by what Faith referred to as "softie clothes". Cordelia wore them. Willow wore them. Buffy wore them. At least, Buffy had worn them.   
  
Not wanting to think of that, Faith exmained herself in the mirror. She was pale, and wore no makeup. She had a bruise on her arm from the prison attack, but her hair wasn't all that messy. Sighing, giving up on fixing up her appearance, Faith left her room, careful not to make much noise in case other people were sleeping. Wandering down into the lobby, she found Wesley sitting alone on a couch, reading the morning paper and sipping tea. He stopped and looked up, obviously having heard Faith coming.   
  
"Having trouble sleeping?" Wesley asked.   
  
"Sort of," Faith grumbled. "I'm a little wound up, to be perfectly honest. Something about getting attacked and nearly killed'll do that to you. Plus, weird dreams are an added bonus. Sort of like fun, but not."   
  
"Dreams?" Angel was now emerging from the front office. The sun had yet to rise, and Angel clearly had yet to retire to bed. He looked as though he'd been thinking about Buffy again, as he seemed almost haunted now. "What kind of dreams?"   
  
"I don't really remember. Only that they weren't the fun sweaty kind," Faith said quickly, shrugging. She didn't want to talk about Buffy. Not with Angel, not with anyone. "So." Faith plopped down in a chair in the lobby, and swung her legs over the side. "Figured out what to do with me yet?"   
  
"It's simple enough." Angel shrugged. "Buffy was the Slayer. You replace Buffy."   
  
"And by replace you mean..." Faith could feel a sinking feeling growing in the pit of her stomach.   
  
"Go to Sunnydale," Angel said flatly. "It's where you're needed."   
  
"No, it's where the Slayer's needed. The Scooby Gang needs me about as much as they need herpes." Faith said, her voice ringing cold. "And believe me, none of them are getting any as it is."   
  
"Faith, please," Wesley spoke up. "Given the current situation, I'm sure they'll all be happy to have you." It was Faith and Angel who both turned to give Wesley a skeptical look. "Well, maybe not happy to have you. But...relieved to have you."   
  
"So I go to Sunnydale. Then what?" Faith asked.   
  
"Build a life," a voice said from somewhere behind Angel. Faith turned to see the same young Englishman who had aided in her rescue standing there, looking frumpy and tired. His shirt was wrinkled, and his blue eyes seemed bloodshot. His hair, a strange sandy-brown color, was in an absolute mess. "Do whatever you can, aside from not dying and not getting back into trouble. You're the Slayer now, and it's your job to fight the forces of darkness in Sunnydale. But that also means you get to stay off the streets and out of trouble as well."   
  
"Ooh. You've got a pair on you. I like that," Faith said, feeling a sudden surge of old anger rushing up from inside her somewhere. Who was this guy, and why was he telling her what to do? She didn't take orders. She was Faith.   
  
"I'm sure," the young man fired back. "That seems to be one of your only qualifications for shagging. All the necessary parts."   
  
"Um, if I may, it's-..." Wesley began.   
  
"And I'm sure you will no longer have all those parts after I start chopping things off. Now...who the hell are you?" Faith snapped.   
  
"Faith...meet your new Watcher," Wesley said, shaking his head. He knew this wasn't a good thing: at least when he had first met Buffy, she had made fun of him. But Faith was threatening this Watcher with loss of body parts, and they hadn't even slain a single vampire in each other's company yet. "David Cromwell."   
  
"You gotta be kidding me," Faith said, spinning to face Angel. "I don't need a Watcher! And even if I did, I really think someone over the age of twelve is more qualified for the job!" Faith looked David Cromwell over again, and laughed. "Look at him. He's got Dungeons and Dragons nerd written all over him!" Faith turned to Wesley. "And last time I checked, the Council wanted me dead. So why on earth would they want me to have a Watcher?"   
  
"Any work that Mr. Cromwell does is unofficial." Wesley was now joining Angel and David at the front desk. David was now leaning against the desk, looking at Faith was a look of blatant amusement stretched across his face. Faith paid him no mind. "The Council doesn't think too highly of him. But there is still much to be done, Faith. And if I recall...you've never been one to research what you're killing. It's very much plunge, and move on."   
  
"I'm not even going to point out the joke there," David muttered. Faith sent him a glare that would have terrified most, but only caused him to laugh softly under his breath. "What about Giles? Giles could, uh, watch me," Faith told Wesley. "He's alive, and he's well. He could look after me, and do the book thing."   
  
"Giles is also grieving, Faith." Angel spoke finally. "Losing a Slayer...it's gotta be tough. Maybe someday he'll be okay. But for now, working with you will only make things harder. And that's not saying he won't help. But he needs help. Someone who can, er, keep up with you, so to speak."   
  
"I really, really doubt that." Faith folded her arms across her chest. Angel sent her a look that seemed to be pleading with her.   
  
It was at this moment that something violent and angry sparked within Faith, something that she hadn't felt in quite sometime. It was the same feeling she had gotten the moment she had seen Buffy with Riley so long ago. It was pure, animalistic rage. She knew it well. It suddenly occurred to her that she didn't have to listen to any of this. She could bolt from this hotel, and be on a bus to Mexico by mid-morning. Yet now, standing here in this place, it was the last thing Faith wanted. She remembered running from her problems, and remembered dimly nearly getting gutted as a result. The darkness only came, she realized, when she wouldn't...no, couldn't...face herself. And now, she realized, she was it. Buffy was no longer there to be the "good one". Buffy wasn't there to play hero. She was alone, and the darkness was behind her. And there it had to stay.   
  
"Whatever," she muttered finally. "I don't like this, and I'm not gonna. I don't like you," she said, turning to David, "and I don't like your attitude."   
  
"Hm. So much for pleasantries, then." David didn't appear fazed by Faith's words.   
  
"But seeing as how I'm it now, I don't have much choice. Or I do, but I don't feel like tasting the dark side of the Force again," Faith said, smiling grimly at Angel.   
  
"Good," Angel said, nodding gratefully. "I told Giles you'd be there by tonight. I figure it'll give you time to get some clothes, something to eat, and whatever else you need."   
  
Willow shivered slightly as she and Xander silently made their last nightly rounds around Restfield Cemetery. It was an unusually cool night, one that was almost chilly enough for light jackets. In four hours, the group had seen two vampires. Willow had managed through a simple spell to freeze them in place, and had talked Xander into staking them. It was a job he didn't like, but one that he accepted without complaint. Tara had offered to come along, but Willow had told her to stay with Dawn. Giles was at home, and Anya working at the Magic Box. Willow knew that it wasn't the best time to talk to Xander about what she was going to, but it was the only time, she knew, that they could be completely alone. And she didn't really want Tara or anyone else to know what she was thinking. If Tara knew, she would want to stop it. And she would go to Giles. All things considered, Willow knew they were best off without them.   
  
"Hey, Xand?" Willow finally found the courage to speak, as the silence was becoming deafening. Xander glanced over at her, and waited for her to continue. "Remember what we talked about the other night? About Buffy, I mean."   
  
"How could I forget?" Xander chuckled bitterly. "You basically hinted that there's a good chance that Buffy's sitting on a couch with Hitler and Charles Manson in a blinding land of eternal torment. What's not to remember?"   
  
"That's not what I said," Willow told him.   
  
"Not directly, but it's what you meant. You talked about Buffy being somewhere other than heaven. And that's a talk I never wanted to have." Xander stopped walking, and casually dropped down at the base of a tombstone. Willow slid down beside him, unsure of how to continue. "Explain to me again how this is possible."   
  
"I-I don't know for sure that it is," Willow said. "Giles's books are sort of sketchy about the idea of heaven and hell. But still, Buffy's death was the result of powerful dark magicks. And she ended her own life. According to the Christian beliefs, that's a mortal sin. And if you die of a mortal sin..."   
  
"You burn." Xander finished Willow's thought. "And you think that, combined with the magicks, threw Buffy into someplace with an eternal heat wave?"   
  
"Maybe." Willow was silent for a moment, and she turned to Xander suddenly. "Xander, what if I told you that maybe things didn't have to be this way? That maybe, just maybe, we could fix things?"   
  
"Will, what you talking about?" Xander seemed incredulous.   
  
"Oh...bloody hell..." Willow's answer was interrupted by a groan from nearby. Both armed with crucifixes and holy water, Willow and Xander leapt to their feet in time to see Spike stumbling somewhat drunkenly among the gravestones, his leather duster looking dirtier than usual. His hair was messy, and his eyes appeared bloodshot. Every few seconds he would stop and catch his balance, and continue stumbling along. Willow felt instant relief at the sight of Spike...she knew that if Xander didn't like her plan, Spike would. Spike would help her, as much as she hated to think of it that way. Sensing Willow and Xander, Spike glanced in their direction. "Great...sub-important members of the Scooby Gang, out on nightly patrol. You two, you're real menacing." He glanced at Xander. "What, you think vampires are afraid of flannel shirts and cologne?" Spike turned to Willow. "And you, with your fuzzy sweater...real intimidating, I tell you."   
  
"But funny, last time I checked, you were the one with the chip in your head. Real intimidating, I tell you," Xander snapped. They hadn't seen Spike since the day Buffy died. But judging by the looks of him, he was taking it not-so-well.   
  
"Sod off," Spike murmured.   
  
"We were here first," Xander called back.   
  
"Xander, shut up," Willow said, leaving Xander to jog after Spike, who was now passing by them in a hasty, angry way. Xander watched, perplexed, as Willow caught up to Spike, and grabbed him by his coat sleeve. She spoke to him in a low and secretive voice, and Xander suddenly saw Spike's face soften. Willow waited, and finally, Spike nodded. Xander, stunned, watched Willow return toward him with Spike in tow. Spike was oddly silent now, and was mainly looking down at his feet and watching the grass pass underneath him. When Willow returned, she pushed Spike down onto a raised tomb, and she stood looking from Spike to Xander. With a heavy and worried sigh, she began: "The other night, I was crazy. I couldn't think straight. After what happened to Buffy, I was in shock. Anyway...I started going through books. Mine, Giles's, Tara's, anything I could get my hands on. In one of Tara's books, I found a spell."   
  
"A spell in a book of spells. What a crazy, mixed up world," Xander said, trying his best to make a joke in the incredibly uncomfortable situation that was now being presented.   
  
"It was a spell that...it's complicated. There's a lot involved in it, and as far as I know it's never been done. The spell...it's not like anything I've ever seen before." Willow glanced at Spike, and then at Xander. "I think I know a way to bring Buffy back." 


	2. Deliver Us From Evil

Part Two: "Deliver Us From Evil"  
  
Xander was pretty sure that the horrified look on both his and Spike's face was the first thing that the two of them had ever really shared. Both men merely sat there by the gravestone, staring at the redhead as though she was out of her mind. Judging by what she had just said, Xander wagered, losing her mind might be a good alibi. Xander gaped, open mouthed, while Spike's brow furrowed. Willow just stood there, waiting for either or both to give any indication that what she had just said registered in their minds. Willow's face was full of hope, and Xander could almost feel her eagerness to win some support for this cause. He had known Willow his entire life, and never once had he seen her with this look on her face. It was a look of grief mixed with something else: desperation. She had worn a similar look when Oz left, but it hadn't been anything like this. Oz leaving had hurt, Xander remembered. He couldn't even begin to imagine how much Buffy's death was hurting her. For a moment, Xander had to rip his eyes from his best friend. He just couldn't bear to look at her anymore. He glanced down at his hands, calloused and hardened by construction work and carpentry. He examined the slight unravel in his jeans just above the knee. Anything but looking at Willow was good, he decided.  
  
"It's a little bit out of your league, don't you think, Red?" It was Spike who finally spoke. Xander glanced up at Willow. Xander didn't really know if Spike was right, and perhaps he didn't want to know.   
  
"Out of my league?" Willow raised an eyebrow. "This is out of the league of any witch or wizard in history. It's never been done. But look what we have to work with...two Wiccans, an ex-Vengeance demon, a mystical Key..."  
  
"Please," Spike said. "I saw you hesitate there. You didn't tell your little girlfriend, did you? Or the Watcher, or the Niblet. I'd wager that me and Xander are the first to know." Spike lit a cigarette, and stared at the witch. "And I'm also willing to bet something like this is dangerous."   
  
"Well, it's not all kittens and blueberry muffins, but it's not that bad," Willow said.  
  
"And what exactly does it entail?" Spike asked her. "Still-beating heart of a virgin, eye of California condor, drinking of poisonous Kool Aid?" Spike chuckled as he stood on wobbly legs. "This is...bloody madness. To think I sat and listened to this when I could be passing out in a perfectly good alleyway...bugger." Spike began stumbling away.  
  
"Tell me you don't miss her," Willow called after him. Spike stopped. "Tell me your every thought doesn't revolve around her. Tell me you don't think about what would have happened if you wouldn't have fallen off that platform. What would have happened if you saved her." Spike blinked a few times, and he didn't want to admit how much Willow's words hurt. He swallowed, wanting to say something, but something wouldn't allow him to turn around. "This is your second chance to save her, Spike."   
  
"Will, you're talking about raising the dead," Xander said from his spot on the ground from which he had not moved. "Something like this would be...huge. I don't even think Giles would want this done. It's dangerous."  
  
"Then we leave him out of it," Willow said defiantly, but not angrily. "We don't need him. The spell is very specific, but I think between me and Tara, we can manage it. It just calls for a few things that we might not have lying around..." By this point, Spike was standing near Willow, listening. Xander was now listening intently as well. "...but I think we can manage, if we get a little help from Anya and the Magic Box. Without Giles knowing it, of course."   
  
"I'm thinking Giles won't be noticing much in the next few weeks," Xander said, not really believing his own words.  
  
Dawn found herself sitting alone on the front porch of her home, feeling oddly out of place but with nowhere else to go. It was one of those times that was less difficult than some of the others, but she knew that the pain would return full force once it occurred to her again that Buffy was really gone. The wounds on her body had begun to heal, but inside, she was still screaming in pain. Tucking her legs beneath her, Dawn remembered how her friend Janic had tried to call her earlier in the day. She'd made Tara lie and say that she was asleep. Willow, Dawn knew, had been working to get the Buffybot back in order, and as soon as this was done, no one would have to know that the Slayer, Buffy Summers, was dead. This made it harder on Dawn: she couldn't talk to anyone about her sister's death outside of the Scooby Gang. Her isister/i. It was a word that made Dawn shudder to think about it. For all intensive purposes, Buffy was her sister. But some part of Dawn now grieved that. If Buffy had just realized that Dawn wasn't really her sister, just a mystical glowing ball of energy, she would still be alive. She would have allowed Dawn to jump, and saved herself.  
  
But that wasn't the type of person Buffy was. Dawn remembered when she was little how she and Buffy used to tease each other. Dawn remembered how they used to fight, but the minute that Dawn would fall and hurt herself, it was Buffy who made it to her well before Hank or Joyce. Of course, Dawn thought bitterly, those weren't real memories at all. Just another fun side effect of being made into a human by some monks trying to save the world from a goddess. But those memories, in spite of everything Dawn knew, were all she had anymore. She remembered Buffy telling her that she was the Slayer. She remembered Buffy running away. She remembered Buffy losing Riley. Buffy, Dawn decided, had done more in a few short years than most people did in a lifetime. She also lived several more years than any Slayer was supposed to, but that was another issue entirely. And now, Dawn missed her sister. She had cried and cried at first, but she now found herself in a sort of shock in which she felt like it was all a dream. She kept telling herself, as she had with her mother's death, that she'd wake up at any moment, and Buffy would be sitting in the kitchen having tea with Giles while going over bills. It was a grim bit of hope that she clung to with all within her that was still able to.  
  
Dawn's thoughts were interrupted when a car pulled up to the Summers driveway. It was a car that Dawn didn't recognize, a dark Jeep of some sort. Dawn stood, a sort of strange panic consuming her. Usually, she'd just run and tell Buffy that someone was there. But now, Buffy was gone. All that was left inside the house was Tara, who was busy cooking some sort of dinner. Fighting back the urge to run inside, Dawn waited. The door opened on the passenger side, and out stepped Faith. Dawn found herself seized with panic again, but it diminished when she saw the look on Faith's face: it was a solemn look, but not an angry one like she usually wore. Dawn watched as a young man climbed out from behind the wheel, and tossed a duffel bag over his shoulder. Faith said something to him, and he shook his head.  
  
Dawn remembered Faith from many of her "memories". She remembered the first time she had met Faith, and how cool she had instantly thought the new Slayer was. Faith had been lively and enjoyed life, and had seemed at the time a lot cooler than Buffy to Dawn. But Dawn remembered soonafter that Faith began to live a bit dangerously, and that eventually someone had gotten hurt. And then, Faith had gone to the side of Mayor Wilkins, and had eventually been put into a coma by Buffy, only to wake up and wreak more havoc later before finally turning herself in to the cops in Los Angeles. And now, here she was, free. Faith saw Dawn, and for a moment there was a glimmer of something strange in her eye. Dawn realized that Angel must have told Faith everything, about the key and everything else, and she was just now registering that Dawn wasn't "real". Faith approached slowly, stranger following close behind her.  
  
She looked upon Dawn with a look of discomfort, and she glanced down at her feet for a moment before speaking: "Uh, hey, Dawn." Dawn stared at her, unsure of what to say to this.  
  
"Are you evil?" Faith glanced up, surprised at Dawn's words. " 'Cuz, I mean, you tried to kill my sister and all on various occasions. So, are you evil?"  
  
Before Faith could speak, David spoke up: "I hardly think she'd be here to help if she were evil."   
  
Dawn looked at David with a weary eye, and realized that this young man obviously didn't have a clue of what Faith was capable of. She turned to him: "And what are you supposed to be, Mini Giles?" And without a word, Dawn turned and went inside the house, leaving Faith and David standing on the lawn, perplexed for a moment.  
  
"So was that an invitation inside, or a 'shove it up your ass'?" Faith wondered aloud. "Girl's gotten a 'tude since the last time I..." Faith paused, realizing how weird this whole thing was turning out so far. "...saw her." She finished. Without another word, she walked slowly and lazily into the Summers house as well. David followed after a moment of his own thoughts.   
  
Xander and Willow said nothing as they walked up Revello Drive toward the Summers home. They hadn't spoken a word since they left Spike standing in the graveyard, obviously deep in thought about what had been said. Xander wasn't fond of the plan, but he was desperate: he wanted Buffy back. Life wasn't turning out to be much fun without her, and it had only been a few days since she had died. Still, there was a lot of trickery involved in this plan, and it was this that Xander didn't like. Giles wasn't to be involved at all, and neither was Dawn. Tara would have to be convinced, and Anya would do whatever Xander asked. Spike was in, and Xander knew that as far as getting the tricky parts they needed was concerned, Willow was already halfway done. There were two more things she needed, both of which made up the last half of her potion. And that would be considerably harder, Xander knew. They walked up the driveway in silence, both noticing that there was a new and unfamiliar car in the driveway along with that of Giles, which was parked behind it. Climbing the steps to the front door, Willow stopped.  
  
"Remember...not a word," she told him. "I'll talk to Tara, and you can tell Anya. But not now, and not here." Without giving Xander a chance to reply, Willow opened the door and stepped inside.  
  
Inside, all seated in the living room, was a group of extremely uncomfortable looking people. The tension in the room was so strong that it could be cut with a knife. Tara was sitting on the couch with Anya, and both girls were looking anywhere but at the others. So mainly, the two were sitting and admiring the coffee table and each other's shoes. Dawn was standing near the fireplace, her arms crossed, glaring daggers at Faith, who was sitting in a chair not far from the fireplace itself. Seated alongside her was Giles. Hovering somewhere behind Giles was a young man that Willow and Xander had never seen before. The entire group was silent, and Giles was at the moment massaging his forehead with his hands while Faith glanced around uncomfortably.   
  
"Hey, guys, what's with the crazy whirligig of fun? Don't leave us out!" Xander said awkwardly, laughing rather elaborately for a short time. Anya glanced at him with an expression of boredom, and Xander glanced away. "Giles? What's the what here?"  
  
"It's quite simple," Giles said softly. "Faith is the Slayer. Angel thought it best that she come to Sunnydale, and aid us in our work. All of our work is, of course, unofficial, thanks to the fact that the Council tried to have Faith killed." Faith nodded in silent agreement. Giles removed his glasses, and began cleaning them. "I don't expect that this attempt will be their last. The Council will try their best to do away with her. And anyone who gets in their way."   
  
"Oh, so we're all in danger for harboring a rogue Slayer. That's a relief. Say, maybe tomorrow we can slit our wrists and dangle them in front of Spike on the off chance that his chip malfunctions! And then, just for an edge, we can stick our heads in a gas oven," Anya said, speaking up. She glanced at Giles as she said this. "Now I don't know what exactly she's done, or who she's done..." Xander could feel Faith's eyes on him as she listened to Anya's tirade, and he didn't much like it. "...but it's obviously not safe for us now."  
  
"Bluntness, thy name is Anya," Xander murmured. "I'm not exactly for harboring a vicious killer..."  
  
"Hey! Sitting right here!" Faith spoke up. She knew she deserved every last thing that any of these people had to say about her. Hell, even Tara had reason to hate her, thanks to Faith's adventures in Buffy's body. But all of this was making Faith a bit angry. Though she no longer felt homicidal, she still got angry a bit too easily. And Anya's comments, no matter how numerous, cut her deeply. The others all turned their attention to Faith, who sat up in her chair. "I know I've...not exactly been a pal in the past."  
  
"Especially when you threatened to kill me, and would've, had the giant crazy snake Mayor hadn't interrupted," Willow pointed out.  
  
"Or when you tried to strangle me," Xander tossed out offhandedly.  
  
"Or when you were going to kill my mother," Dawn sneered.  
  
"Or when you said that Xander only lasts seven minutes during sex!" Anya piped up. Xander felt whatever manliness he had beginning to diminish. He was waiting for Faith to make a comment about this that would definitely cause problems between himself and Anya, but to his surprise, Faith sat back in her chair, taking this all in cool, calm stride.   
  
"All right, all right!" The young man that no one in the room seemed familiar with spoke up now. He glanced around the room at the group of young faces, and he noticed that the youngest one, Buffy Summers's sister, was now rolling her eyes. "Obviously, you all have a history of run-ins with Faith. Who doesn't?"  
  
"Oh, good. For a minute there I thought some defense was coming. You're really getting good at this verbal abuse thing, D. How long you think you can keep it up?" Faith snapped, glancing back at the young man. She was losing her patience, and it wasn't a single member of the Scoobies that was trying her.   
  
"I'm sure you'd like to find out," David retorted.   
  
"You wish," Faith said, standing. "Look...I'm only here because that's where Angel wants me. Angel says jump, I say 'How high?'. I owe him that. But what I don't owe him is being talked to like a dog by some guy that I've never met before in my life!" Faith glanced around the room. "Every single one of you have a reason to hate me." She turned back to the the young Watcher. "And for someone who was so eager to save my ass twenty-four hours ago, you sure are quick to run your mouth now."   
  
"Saving you doesn't mean I like you, love." David turned to Giles. "Mr. Giles...I was made to understand that you have several volumes of text that are of interest to me?"   
  
"Yes, on the table in the kitchen," Giles told him. "Just out that door, down the hall." Without another word, David was gone. Faith was looking almost murderous now, and she could feel that old rage seizing her slowly. In the old days, she would've cut this Cromwell guy open from end to end, and not given it a second thought. But now, she knew that it was out of the question. Because above all else, she couldn't let Angel down. Not like this, and not right now. Not when he needed a Slayer he could rely on to take care of what Buffy had left behind. Thinking of Buffy once again, this time in the presence of those that loved her, Faith felt her anger fading, and she slid back down into her chair. She glanced around to realize that the rest of the Scoobies were now staring at her.  
  
"Guy just bugs me," Faith muttered.   
  
"It's like Giles took some drugs, and then started doing scenes from Monty Python," Dawn said. It was her turn to be stared at by the group. Faith hid a smile, but just barely. She almost wished she'd come up with that one, but she was sure she'd use it later. The ride from LA had been a long one. Not a word had been said the entire time between Slayer and Watcher, and more than once Faith had fought back the urge to punch his lights out, dump him on the side of the road, and take his car anywhere she wanted. But something within her once again stopped her. Faith had officially adopted a now motto, one that pretty much helped, she found: "What Would Buffy Do?" So far, it had kept her from beating a guy senseless and stealing his car.   
  
"Um, well." Giles pushed his glasses up on his nose as he spoke. "Like it or not, Sunnydale is Faith's home. She is to remain, as is the, ah, New Watcher." Faith rolled her eyes, but said nothing. "Faith, you will stay here. You will not leave this house unless it is to patrol, and even then you must be accompanied by one of us." Faith glanced at Giles, and didn't say anything as he gave his orders. "You will work out sleeping and eating arrangements with Willow and Tara."  
  
"Mmkay. And what about my new best buddy?" Faith asked, nodding toward the kitchen.   
  
"He's made prior arrangements, I understand," Giles told her.  
  
"Darn. I was really hoping he'd sleep here. He looks like he could use a good roll in the sack," Faith said, smiling softly to herself. The others in the room stared at her, perplexed. "Kidding! We all know I'd kill him in his sleep if I had the chance." This didn't draw any smiles either. "Okay, so maybe I'm not funny." Faith stood, shrugging. "Where do I sleep?"   
  
"So! Anya...there's that thing at home. That thing that we were working on. The...jigsaw puzzle. With lots of pieces. We should get going, get to work on that," Xander said. He knew it was lame and a pathetic excuse not to be around anymore, but he didn't want to be here anymore. It creeped him out having a Slayer around again, and more, Willow's plan was still fresh in his mind. Anya stood, and Xander could tell she had been looking for an excuse to leave.  
  
"That means we're going to have sex," Anya told the group. And without another word, she and Xander were gone. Giles leaned back in his chair for a moment, and finally stood. Without a word to the women of the house that remained, he wandered into the kitchen to pour himself some tea. Faith looked uncomfortably at Willow and Tara, who were now sliding down onto the couch. Dawn was now moving from her spot in the corner to the chair where Giles had been sitting.   
  
"Is someone gonna tell me where I can sleep, or do I have to sleep in the chair?" Faith asked finally. Willow and Tara exchanged a glance.  
  
The door to Buffy's room was closed. Faith stopped outside of it for a moment, and frowned. She didn't like this. Not at all. Standing there like this, she remembered the last time she had been in Buffy's bedroom. She had been in Buffy's body, she recalled, having the time of her life. But now, Buffy was gone, and the one enemy she had never truly defeated was about to sleep in her bed. Faith hesitated as she touched the doorknob, and finally found the courage to open it. She wasn't sure what she was expecting to be different, but whatever it was, it was not there. The bedroom was much the same. Weapons trunk, posters of Los Angeles, dresser with makeup and jewelry, all there. The blinds were drawn shut, and the room was lit only by moonlight for a few short moments, casting an eerie glow over the entire room. Faith shivered, and flipped the lightswitch as she entered the room. Duffel bag in hand, she slid down onto the edge of the bed, and glanced around. There was a picture of Buffy, Willow, and Xander on her nightstand, one obviously taken at the beach. All were smiling, all were happy. Chilled, Faith reached over to turn the picture down, but drew her hand back after a few seconds. This was Buffy's room...not hers. Sighing, Faith went to change her clothes for bed.  
  
Giles tried his best to ignore the whispering of Willow and Tara from the living room now. Dawn had retired to bed a short while ago as well, and it had been nearly an hour since Faith had gone to bed. Giles stirred his tea thoughtfully as he slid down at the kitchen island, eyeing the young Watcher that sat across from him silently.  
  
"So it's you, then," Giles said softly after a few moments, cocking his head slightly to the side, for the moment an old bloodhound picking up a vaguely familiar scent. "I mean, it's really you."  
  
"Really," David said, glancing back down at the book in front of him. "That's what the Council said when I got to Faith first, I suppose. One step ahead this time."  
  
"How have you been?" Giles asked.   
  
"Some days are more difficult than others." David glanced up, closing his book. "The girl...Faith...she still needs some work. She has a problem with authority, doesn't she?"  
  
"To the contrary. She just seems to have a problem with you." Giles managed a weak smile, but barely. David chuckled softly. "Honestly, you might try showing her some tolerance. You don't know that it was her fault."  
  
"No," David said thoughtfully, "I don't."   
  
Tara climbed the stairs to the bedroom that she and Willow shared silently, not looking back over her shoulder at her red-haired lover that still sat in the living room. Fleeing from a conversation with Willow wasn't something Tara did often, but now she felt that it was absolutely necessary. The first warning sign should have been Willow feeling the need to whisper because Giles was present. And then, without hesitation, Willow revealed her plan. Tara had sat there, listening patiently and quietly, and hadn't batted an eye at Willow's words in spite of the inner shock that she was feeling. What Willow was talking about wasn't just bringing someone back from the dead: it was toying with magick older and more deadly than anything either of them had ever encountered. Tara had learned long ago that any ritual involving blood wasn't a good thing, and this one seemed to require more than its fair share. And then, as quickly as the discussion ended, the argument began.   
  
Tara still wasn't sure whose fault it was, and she didn't really care. Willow had asked her what she thought, and Tara had looked at her and merely said, "I think you could get someone hurt." And that was all Tara remembered before she and Willow were quietly bickering back and forth. Closing the door to the bedroom that they shared, Tara slid down onto the edge of the bed. Willow had told her that they needed Buffy back; Tara pointed out that Faith was there, and seemed to be a bit more reliable than her former self. Willow said that Buffy would want them to do it; Tara told her that they couldn't really know what Buffy wanted. Willow said that it was for the best; Tara argued that it wasn't up to her to decide what was best. And so it had ended with Tara leaving the conversation. When she and Willow argued (which was rare), it made her almost physically ill. What made her feel even worse was the topic of the fight itself.  
  
Laying back across the bed, Tara's mind was full of thoughts. Most of them were frightening, as she knew that Willow would fight tooth and nail to go through with this. Tara came to understand that Xander and Spike were also aware of and supporting the plan, an idea that she didn't like. What unnerved her most, though, was Willow's desire to keep this plan a secret from Giles and Dawn. In Tara's mind, if Willow was going to hide something, then she knew that something was blatantly wrong with what they were doing.  
  
"Tara?" Willow's voice came from outside the door, and Tara said nothing. She didn't even move to sit up. A moment later, the door opened, and Willow stepped inside. Her expression was grave. Tara said nothing as Willow slid down onto the edge of the bed. "You're right. It's not my place to decide what's right, or what Buffy would have wanted. And we do have a Slayer here." Tara glanced at Willow, but still said nothing. "But I want her back."  
  
"We all do," Tara said softly. "We all miss her, Willow. But that doesn't mean that it's right to toy with things like this. You're talking about breaking mystical laws that have existed longer than humanity. Do you think you have that kind of power?"  
  
"I don't know," Willow admitted. "But I think I can make it work."   
  
"You're really going to go through with this, aren't you." Tara's words were more of an observation than a question, an observation that was causing her great pain for the moment. She didn't want any part of this...she didn't want to know what Willow was going to do.   
  
"I am," Willow said finally, nodding her head.  
  
Tara fought back sniffles of both pain and anger now. As much as she loved Willow, she hated this. Willow could get hurt, and hurt everyone else involved as well. And more importantly, there was no guarantee that the spell would work. Tara fought back tears of anger as she said quietly, "Then you'll do it without me." And without another word about the matter, Tara climbed to her feet and went to get ready for bed. Willow sat there for a long while, her thoughts much louder than the sound of Tara's shower. She wasn't fond of Tara not being there with her to help her. But at the same time, she knew that it probably would be up to her in the end to resurrect the fallen Slayer.  
  
iA bright light flashed in the distance, and thunder crackled threateningly over head. Buffy trembled as she stood in the middle of the street that she knew as her home, and closed her arms protectively around herself. Her clothing was thin, looking much like a hospital gown, and it gave her little shelter from the cold that engulfed her. The trees lining the usually friendly-looking street were bare, their rake-like fingers seeming to reach up toward the tumultuous, darkened sky. Thunder rumbled again over head, and Buffy whimpered softly as she surveyed the barren and deserted street. A few cold raindrops fell to the ground around her, and Buffy glanced down slowly to survey her bare and bloody feet against the cold, wet pavement. For what felt like days there had been the painful tearing of the thorns that ripped open her flesh and made her bleed...her feet bore these wounds, thousands of tiny pinpricks accented by thousands of matching tiny blood trails. Her legs were dirty, and accented by several deep gashes that pained her to the bone as she walked. Her arms bore dozens of shallow cuts which itched and burned often. Her hair was matted and gnarled, and her face was bruised. Each inch of her skin pained her, each muscle exhausted.   
  
She had been fighting a non-stop battle for three days now.  
  
Demons of every kind would come at her. Sometimes, they came in some sort of disguise. On the first day the demon had been the Master, and Buffy had realized this instantly and managed to dispatch him. Later, as she wandered aimlessly through the neverending maze of thorns and blazing heat, Willow had come to her. As Buffy went to her friend, Willow had moved to strangle her friend. Buffy had dispatched her as well. The demons had then come to her as Giles, and on the previous day, as Buffy had wondered sobbing through a sandy and freezing terrain, one had come to her as Angel. For the second time in her life, Buffy had found herself killing her lover.   
  
And now, she was here, on Revello Drive. Her home. Yet she felt no comfort, instead engulfed in a mind-numbing sort of fear that she couldn't accurately comprehend. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts, having seen such horrors in the previous days, that only one thing had she been able to discern: this was Hell. Trembling and weak, a ferocious hunger gnawing away at her insides, Buffy took a painful step forward. Her feet shook violently as she moved, and she groaned as she forced herself to continue onward. Her house was in plain sight now, and she felt a moment of relief at the sight of it. She willed herself forward slowly, and she stumbled but did not fall as she limped desperately toward her home.  
  
The grass of the lawn soothed Buffy as she slid down to her knees on the ground. She felt her legs buckle beneath her, and she allowed herself to fall against the soft and reassuring grass. Her bleeding and sore feet were for the moment soothed: for the first time in three days, she was completely alone and able to rest. She stayed like this for what felt like forever, and eventually she forced herself to scramble back to her feet. She could see lights on inside the Summers home, and as this occurred to her, a hopeful feeling rose from within her. She lumbered painfully up the front steps and onto the porch, and she found herself forcing the door open quickly. When she stepped inside, she rushed for the living room.   
  
Joyce Summers lay on the couch, her eyes wide and cold with the serenity of death inherent in her eyes. Buffy gasped a shocked breath of air as she beheld her mother staring up at the ceiling dead, much as she had been when Buffy found her those few short months ago. Buffy took a step back from her mother after a moment, and forced herself to look away. Tears were stinging at her eyes.  
  
"Buffy!" Buffy whirled as she heard Dawn's cry from upstairs. With a renewed determination, Buffy struggled to pull herself up the stairs toward the sound of her sister's voice. Buffy stopped as she made it to the top of the stairs, for she was barely able to behold the sight which greeted her there. Dawn lay crumpled on the floor against the wall, a bloody mess surrounding her. Her body was riddled with holes, tiny but each bleeding in a way similar to Buffy's feet. Dawn's eyes were open and staring straight ahead, and Buffy stifled a scream as she slid down against the opposite wall, mouth covered with a single trembling hand. Tears flooded over as she surveyed her sister, now no more than a body lying on the floor. Buffy buried her face in her hands and sobbed, but only for a moment, because movement then caught the Slayer's attention. Down the hall in her own bedroom, someone was moving. Sniffling and defeated, Buffy carefully avoided Dawn's body as she moved down the hall toward her bedroom. Buffy stopped as she made her way into her room as something hard blocked her way. Glancing down, Buffy cried out again as she surveyed what had once been Faith lying in the doorway, one bloody and raw mass which had once been her hand extended out of the door and into the hall. Her fingers seemed to claw at the carpet, and Buffy realized suddenly that Faith had been dragging herself from the room. There were bloody slide-marks beginning near her bed and going to the door. Suddenly, Buffy understood: Faith had been trying to get to Dawn.   
  
Forcing herself to look away from what remained of Faith, Buffy slid into her room. Willow and Xander were neatly laid out across Buffy's bed, hands bound, throats slit. Xander's eyes were gouged out, and Willow had a still fresh teardrop on her cheek. Buffy backed slowly away, going numb. Her body was trembling frantically, and a hysterical sob was threatening at the back of her throat.   
  
"You don't belong here," a soft voice said as Buffy fled back down the stairs. The voice seemed to come from somewhere above her, and as Buffy reached the kitchen, she found Tara standing in the doorway, her face full of sadness. "You shouldn't be here," Tara said quietly. "But she isn't going to listen to me, and now she's going to bring you out. And this is what will happen," Tara said, nodding to Giles, who lay with a broken neck across the floor. Anya was lying near him, a horrid gash ripped across her throat. "She'll take the chance so that you might live. And then she'll have killed us all."  
  
"But you're not in my dream," Buffy muttered quietly, eyeing Tara.   
  
"I was borrowed," Tara whispered. Buffy ran from the house, and broke down sobbing on the lawn./i  
  
Faith was startled from sleep by a strange sensation overtaking her body. Groaning softly, she bolted upright. Sunlight streamed in through the windows of the Summers household. Putting one hand gently to her face, Faith felt moisture there. After a moment, she understood. She had been crying in her sleep. Quickly wiping the rogue tears away, Faith glanced around. Buffy's room was much as it had been the previous night, only it seemed different in the daylight somehow. Pushing it from her mind, Faith went to take a shower.   
  
Wrapping a towel around herself, Faith glanced in the slightly fogged mirror of Buffy's bathroom. She had been here before, only last time she had been in Buffy's body, she dimly recalled. But then, she remembered suddenly that Buffy's body was currently somewhere in the ground rotting. It was a crude and terrible thought, but one that struck her without much realization. Buffy was gone. This was her job now. Yet something bothered face about this scenario, which left her sleeping in Buffy's bed, using her bathroom, and spending time amongst her family and friends. Faith shivered suddenly as she glanced in the mirror. Her skin was pale, and her hair hung in wet, dark tendrils around her face. Yet she looked like the same old Faith, the Faith she had always seen when she looked in the mirror. iYou can trust me, Faith/i. Buffy's words suddenly echoed in her mind. She had almost reached out to Buffy that day, had almost let it all out. She would told Buffy everything had that tiny voice in the back of her mind not stopped. Faith couldn't help but wonder sometimes what would have happened had she put her trust in Buffy rather than in herself. After all, it seemed to have worked for everyone else around the other Slayer, so why not? In the end, Faith knew that she probably would have found another way to screw things up, and she probably would have gone to jail all the same.  
  
And now, she was deeply troubled. Not once in her entire twenty years had she ever awakened from sleep crying. What was more troubling was that in spite of her tears, she had no recollection of what she had been dreaming about. Shaking this from her mind, Faith turned and walked back into the bedroom to get dressed.   
  
Xander sat silently alone at the kitchen table at what had once been Buffy's home. What had happened three days ago felt like it had happened three years ago, but the grief and pain were still fresh in Xander's mind. He sat oddly still, the dull aching in his heart panging every time the organ beat. Anya had opted to stay at home today, as she was strangely distant after Xander had told her what Willow was proposing. He had told her on the ride home, and she had been silent the entire time. She had been silent long after that, and had fallen asleep not in Xander's arms, but turned away from him as he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling and feeling absolutely miserable. Buffy's house felt oddly different now, almost alien, without Buffy. Xander sighed softly. Five years ago he had befriended Buffy Summers, and he had instantly been completely and totally in love with her. For nearly three years he had pursued her, and each subtle advance had been greeted with defeat. Always because Buffy was with someone else. Xander didn't feel that same contempt for Angel now, because he could imagine what the vampire was now going through. Xander sometimes wondered if somewhere deep down he still loved Buffy, and each time he found himself more confused than when he began. He hadn't considered this since Riley left. It pained him, but Xander had let her go: he had sent her to chase after Riley. But still, Xander had Anya. Anya, whom he had proposed to only three days ago. Forgotten now was all of this, for Anya had said not a word about it. Xander supposed she was wondering how long was proper enough to wait before asking him about it. He hoped it would be a while. But he did love her; marriage just seemed like an awful topic in times such as these.  
  
Xander marveled now at how many times he had been to Buffy's house. It all felt different now that she was gone. Many nights had been spent here in high school, with Willow, Buffy, and Xander all lying across Buffy's bed watching television because they had no money to go to the Bronze. Joyce had always brought them food, and had regarded the three of them with an affectionate eye roll or a head shake. They had been inseparable then, when Willow was still shy and mousy, Buffy was still pining for Angel, and Xander was still pining for Buffy while necking in a closet with Cordelia Chase. Sometimes, as he surveyed what was happening around him, he missed those days.   
  
As he had stood in the Magic Box listening to Giles and Buffy argue about Dawn's fate at the hands of Glory, he had been wishing for times of fish monsters on the swim team and egg demons taking over the student body. As he had met Buffy at the hospital the day Joyce died, he had been wishing for prom night, where Buffy had been honored by her classmates as Class Protector. As he surveyed Buffy's broken body lying on the ground as Spike wept bitterly behind him, he had wished for anything other than that: graduation with the giant snake mayor, the incident with the band candy, Buffy reading people's minds, ianything/i but death. Buffy had always saved the day, and now, it had cost her everything.   
  
"Bad time?" Faith entered the kitchen looking uncomfortable. Xander noted with a bit of sad amusement that Faith was obviously borrowing clothes from Cordelia, as she was wearing a blue tank top with a baby chick in its center. Faith looked much improved from the last time Xander had seen her: she now wore a bit of makeup, and no longer had the tired and weary look that she had worn previously. But still, she seemed different somehow.  
  
"There's a good time?" Xander asked. "Where do I sign up for that?"   
  
"Tell me about it," Faith muttered, sliding down at the table across from Xander.   
  
"I don't think I realized until now how much this group centered around Buffy." Xander's voice was hushed and sad. Faith glanced at him. "She held us all together, even when things were down. I'd forgotten how much she did that." Faith looked down at her hands, not saying anything but knowing what Xander said was true. Buffy had been the glue of the Scooby Gang, the core. And now, the center wouldn't hold without her.   
  
"What happens now? Things fall apart?" Faith wondered aloud. "I can't...I'm not Buffy. I can walk the walk and talk the talk, and Angel seems to think this is where I need to be. But I can't do the things that she did. I can't be that person that she was."   
  
Xander and Faith shared a comfortable yet sad silence now, obviously both deep in thought about what had been said. Faith yawned and rested arms and head against the table. Xander could only sit and drown himself in deep thoughts once again.  
  
It was a chilly night as Faith wondered through the graveyard in silence, albeit alongside her new "Watcher". Faith shoved her hands into her pockets as they walked, both aware of the uncomfortable silence between them. It hadn't been dark long, and at the Summers residence Tara was making her, as Xander called it, "now famous call to the pizza place". It was more tragic than funny because, as Giles had pointed out, no one felt much like cooking anymore. He had stopped by early in the day to check up on everyone, yet he had been short on words. Xander had sworn that he detected a hint of alcohol on the old Watcher's breath, but he had said nothing of it. He had left rather quickly, leaving Willow to sit in her bedroom pouring over spellbooks while Tara tidied up the house with Xander's help, and Dawn to make pancakes while Faith sat in the kitchen watching silently.   
  
Faith, if nothing else, was glad to be free of the confines of the house. She felt incredibly out of place amongst Buffy's friends. It wasn't so much how they acted toward her...no, some of them were almost friendly. But what bothered her was the look of grief stretched across every single face, and she realized that seeing her was just a reminder that Buffy was gone. So when her obnoxiously chipper new Watcher had shown up near dusk and ordered her to patrol with him, she had done just that. If anything, she figured, she could let a vampire wail on him for a while and then claim that she had been busy with another. It was a mean thought, but one that kept her entertained. For nearly an hour they had been walking the streets of Sunnydale, and now they were trouncing through the graveyard. They had yet to see a single vampire.  
  
"For a town situated above a Hellmouth, it's awfully quiet tonight," Cromwell commented after a long while. Faith glanced at him, not sure of how to respond.   
  
"Yeah, well, funny thing about vampires," Faith said in a not unkind way, "they tend to run when they see someone walking around carrying stakes and crossbows." The silence resumed, and they continued to walk. They were almost to the center of the cemetery when Faith sensed it...a vampire, and one that had been following them for quite some time. She paused suddenly, and Cromwell halted as well. "We're being followed," she said softly, and the Watcher's stance straightened. Faith turned slowly to see a shady figure moving to crouch behind a tombstone in the distance. Sighing, she turned back around and found herself staring into the face of a grinning and snarling vampire. She cursed aloud as the vampire swung at her, and she stumbled back. Dealing a sharp punch to the creature's head, she spun and kicked it to the ground quickly, producing a stake as she dropped to one knee and plunged the stake into the vampire's heart. He exploded with a scream, and tiny flecks of dust sprinkled to the ground. Faith stood smoothly, and pushed a piece of her hair back from her face.   
  
"Impressive," the Watcher said, and Faith detected for the first time a slight touch of approval in his voice. But more than that, she was reeling. She hadn't killed a vampire in years, and she had long forgotten that once beloved rush of adrenaline that she got every time she plunged that stake down. The sudden spot of violence excited her, and for the first time since arriving in Sunnydale, she felt a bit of strange relief.   
  
"Where'd our other guy go?" Faith wondered, scanning the trees for the vampire that had been following them. Suddenly, he caught her eye as he desperately scampered toward a nearby crypt. Faith, without warning, bolted for him, leaving her Watcher standing over the new pile of dust, baffled. After a moment, he took off after Faith.   
  
Faith found the vampire just past the crypt, kneeling in front of a fresh grave shaded by many trees, hidden from plain view. Silently she crept forward, her footsteps making no sounds against the cool, hard earth. Slightly out of breath, she moved forward, stake in hand, preparing to kill the vampire. She raised the stake silently, and prepared to bring it down into the vampire's back. In a flash, the vampire spun and launched itself at her, growling ferociously as it tackled the Slayer to the ground. Faith grunted as she hit the ground hard, vampire trying desperately to pin her arm as she struggled beneath it. Dealing the vampire a nasty headbutt, she flung him off of her, and threw herself to her feet. Her mind and heart were racing, and the vampire struggled to his feet, regarding her. The vampire charged at her again, only this time found himself being assaulted by a fury of fists and feet, punching and kicking so quickly that he could barely comprehend it all. Spinning and picking her stake up from the ground, Faith hurled it at the vampire, and panted as he exploded into dust.   
  
"Man," she muttered, rubbing her back in an irritated way. "That guy had some spunk." Her Watcher now emerged from the other side of the crypt, and he said nothing. His eyes were focused on something else entirely, and Faith turned to see what he was staring so intently at. She gasped and took a step back as she understood. Directly behind her, where the vampire had been kneeling, was the a grave marked, "Buffy Summers, 1981-2001. Beloved sister, devoted friend. She saved the world alot." Faith stood there silently for a moment. "Oh," she muttered quietly. The earth of the grave was still freshly upturned, and smelled sickly sweet, as moist dirt often tends to. Lying on top of the grave was a single flower. Faith stood there for a long while, staring at the name on the headstone, and she found herself unable to move.   
  
"Looks like our vampire left something behind," Cromwell said softly, picking up a shovel from nearby. Faith turned to him and realized what he meant.   
  
"You mean he was going to..." Her voice trailed off, and the Watcher nodded silently. "But why?"  
  
"I don't know," he told her.  
  
Suddenly, a strange faintness came over Faith, and she closed her eyes momentarily. She found the world spinning beneath her, and she groaned softly as her vision grew fuzzy. Her head was pounding painfully, and she stumbled and sank to her knees suddenly. From what seemed like far away she heard Cromwell ask if she was all right, but she found herself unable to answer. The last thing she heard before she blacked out entirely was the sound of an owl hooting somewhere in the cemetery.  
  
iFaith found herself standing in the library of Sunnydale High School, which for the moment was darkened almost entirely. Overcome with a sudden sense of cold, Faith shivered and pulled her jacket more tightly around her. Hearing distant voices, she walked from the library's doors and further inside, and as she moved in, she could see Buffy, Giles, and Angel standing there together. Buffy stood nearest to the doors, Giles standing close to his office. Angel was hovering a few feet away from Buffy. Buffy looked somewhat younger here than Faith knew her, and she appeared to be crying and extremely upset.   
  
"Giles, I'm sixteen years old," Buffy said quietly, her voice broken with sobs, "I don't want to die." And without another word, Buffy ran from the library. Faith fan after her.  
  
"Buffy! Buffy!" Faith called out after the girl. Buffy ran from the school before Faith could catch her.  
  
"She can't hear you," a voice said softly. Faith turned to find herself staring at an older Buffy, more like the one Faith had come to know. Her hair was long and curly, absolutely beautiful. Her face had a glow to it, and her skin was healthy and rosey. Faith understood without words that this was how Buffy had looked when she died. Buffy came to the other Slayer's side quietly and with a fluid motion, and her face was sad. "It's strange. When I was called, I was told by my first Watcher that Slayers die young. But that day in Giles' office, that was the first time I really tasted death. That was the first time I understood what being a Slayer really meant. The First Slayer told me that death was my gift. But it's not a gift, because I understand it now. Death is my curse." Faith stared at Buffy. "But you know that, don't you."   
  
"Am I dead?" Faith asked.  
  
"Hardly." Buffy smiled softly. "At least one of us is living. But see, things are going to change soon."   
  
Faith felt dizzy again suddenly, and she found herself standing in the old mansion where Angel had taken up residence. Buffy stood alongside her, arms folded, calm. She was glancing toward the mansion's fireplace, in front of which Faith saw a large stone sarcophagus, in front of which a small, golden vortex was beginning to swirl. Standing in front of the sarcophagus was Angel, who was now looking around as though he were a lost child. Buffy stood facing him, and Faith could tell that she was baffled and frightened. Once again Buffy was younger, and she had a strangely childlike quality to her that Faith had never really known.  
  
"Close your eyes," Faith heard Younger Buffy whisper to Angel. And without warning, as Angel closed his eyes, Buffy thrust the sword that she held in her hand into Angel's stomach, and Angel cried out suddenly. Sobbing, Younger Buffy backed away, and Angel said her name softly.  
  
"As I got older it made more sense," Older Buffy said as she watched her younger self stand there crying. "I understood my curse. I couldn't stop Angel from killing Ms. Calendar...it took her death to make me see what I had to do. And then, I killed him. I killed him and sent him to Hell. I killed the man I loved, because I wanted to save the world that had forced me to be its protector."   
  
In a flash, Faith found herself standing alongside Older Buffy in the living room of the Summers household. Older Buffy was calmly watching as another version of herself yelled to Giles, "We're not supposed to move the body!" Faith noticed with horror that Joyce Summers was lying in a body bag on the floor of the living room, pale and lifeless, utterly and completely dead. Faith and Older Buffy watched as the other Buffy flung herself into Giles' arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Giles could only hold the girl, astonished.  
  
"When my mother died, I finally understood," Older Buffy said, turning to Faith, who was still watching numbly. "Life is taken indiscriminately. One day, that higher power wakes up feeling bored, and has to completely and utterly rip apart some unsuspecting person's life. Someone who deserves more. I did nothing but protect the world for years, and then I come home to find my mother dead on the couch. Because no matter what you do, that's how it ends. Death. You understand that. You killed a man. And deep down, it pleased a part of you. It made you feel...raw. Powerful. Primal. Absolute power was in your hands. For a few seconds, you tasted the glory of the gods. That's what being a Slayer is all about...we pride ourselves in death and destruction. Absolute."   
  
Faith blinked, and suddenly found herself standing high above the earth on a tower, the cold night winds whirling about her. Buffy stood alone on the edge of the tower's platform, her hair whipping around her face as she stood looking down at the ground far below her. The platform was wavering slightly with the wind, and Faith found herself going numb. Buffy stood there for a long while, unable to say anything. Faith saw that she appeared to be hypnotized by the ground that seemed so far away from her.   
  
"And then I'm told that death is my gift," Buffy said finally, her voice calm and frightened. "I knew what I had to do to save my sister. Because I didn't do it for the world. When my mother died, I understood how unfair the world is. I no longer cared. Dawn became all that mattered, and if the world ended, it didn't matter. I just didn't want my sister to die. So I jumped, and I died. I died for her. My friends probably think I died for the world." Buffy laughed. "It was more selfish than that." Buffy laughed again. "But now I'm paying for it. All of it." Buffy held up her hands, revealing a gash in each palm, deep and bloody. In a matter of seconds, her hair became tattered and bloody, and her clothes were ripped, muddy, and splotched with blood. Her skin bruised, and tiny cuts appeared all over her body. In a matter of moments, she transformed entirely. "You have to help me, Faith. Please."   
  
And without another word, Buffy turned, and neatly dove off the top of the tower. Faith screamed, and shot forward, and jumped after Buffy, who was already sailing down toward the ground. The cold wind sting Faith's eyes, flinging her about as she plummetered toward the ground./i   
  
Lying unconscious in Buffy's bed, Faith woke with a scream that ripped through the house. Without warning she bolted upright, and and gasped for air, suddenly unable to beat back the feeling that she was being suffocated. She was covered in sweat, and her mind was still full of fear and terror at what she had just seen. The look in Buffy's eyes...so gaunt and hopeless, so angry and cold...it was all fresh and terrifying. Only now did she notice Willow sitting quietly alongside the bed, at a safe distance far away from where Faith lay. Willow was silent and watched the Slayer closely as Faith surveyed the room around her. She could hear the sound of thunder in the distance, and downstairs she could hear voices as well. After a moment Faith heard someone coming up the stairs, and was relieved to see Giles climbing the stairs silently, Cromwell in tow. Both men appeared grave. Faith, in clothes now dirty from her patrolling effort, was horribly at a loss.  
  
"What's going on?" she asked Willow quietly.  
  
"We don't really know. The new Watcher guy says you freaked out on patrol after you staked a vampire. He says you took one look at Buffy's grave and lost it," Willow said. Her big eyes were sad at the mention of her best friend's grave. Faith turned her attention to Giles and Cromwell, who were now entering the room. Giles removed his glasses, and cleaned them in silence.   
  
"You were talking in your sleep," Giles said quietly to the Slayer. Faith said nothing to this, for she couldn't get Buffy's haunted face out of her mind. He examined Faith as she sat there, searching her face for some clue as to what had happened. "What did you see, Faith?"   
  
Faith paused for a few moments to look around the room. Finally, she spoke: "I don't remember." Her voice wavered as she spoke, and Giles looked down at the floor. "What was I saying, Giles?" Giles didn't answer. Instead, he left the room hastily, followed quickly by Willow. Faith was left alone with her new Watcher, who was staring gravely at her with a look that she had never seen before. "What's going on? Everyone's being all...weird."   
  
"You spoke to Willow." Cromwell walked over and slid down in the chair that Willow had now abandoned. "You spoke to her as though you were Buffy Summers." Faith could only stare at him. "You possessed knowledge of Buffy that you could not. You spoke to Willow of things that you have no knowledge." Cromwell took another pause. "You...she...begged for help."   
  
"Can I tell you something?" Faith said suddenly, abruptly. Her Watcher stared at her, and nodded finally. "I saw her. She told me...that she was angry. That death was her...gift. And she begged for my help." Faith trembled suddenly. "I think she's in Hell."   
  
It was well after midnight when Spike showed up at the Summers residence. Even after much thought, he was still uneasy about Willow's plan. It hadn't seemed too safe when she had first told him about it, and now he trusted this idea even less. But at the same time was alive within him a hope that he could see Buffy again. He wanted her alive, he wanted her with him. And he knew that Willow could pull it off. Which was why, he supposed, that he had gone to the cemetery earlier in the night, just to sit and talk to Buffy. He knew it was ridiculous, and that she probably couldn't hear him, but it was something he needed to do. Also, Willow had asked him to stop and take a bit of dirt from Buffy's grave, something that to Spike seemed horribly out of place. But all the same he knew that Willow needed it for some reason, and he was happy to oblige. When he entered the house, the lights were all dimmed. In the living room sat Willow, Anya, Xander, and Faith. All wore grave and miserable expressions.   
  
The ride to the sight of Buffy's death was a long and silent one.  
  
Willow stood uncomfortable on the spot where a few days ago, her best friend had lay dead. Sitting in a circle around the area were a group of candles, each of which Anya was carefully lighting with a match. Spike was hovering at a distance, having delivered the necessary ingredient to Willow. Xander was standing near Spike, a shifty and frightened expression on his face. Faith stood apart from the others, surveying the tower fearfully. It was a cool night, and being in this place made it all the more colder. Faith had been told little about what was happening. After Giles and Cromwell had departed, Faith had confessed her entire vision to Willow, which gave the witch all that she needed to convince the others that Buffy had to be brought back. And now, with the full moon, was her opportunity. Willow glanced skyward, and the moon's brilliant beams shone down upon all. She smiled sadly...it would have to be tonight. It would have to be now.  
  
"All right," Willow said finally. Carefully, she sprinkled the dirt from Buffy's grave around the circle of candles. "Listen, and listen closely. We don't have a lot of time. And if we screw this up, we won't be getting another full moon for a while, so tonight has to be the night. This isn't going to exactly be safe, which is why we need someone who can take what's going to be thrown at them." For a moment, Willow turned to Faith, who was still glancing around. After a moment, Willow turned away from her. "Spike, it's going to have to be you."   
  
"What?" Xander asked, frowning. "Why can't it be me? Or Anya? Or even Faith?"   
  
"Because I don't know what exactly this spell is going to do to the...vessel. That vessel may be comforted by kittens, or they may be subjected to blinding physical pain that could kill them. But it's hard to kill something that's already dead." Willow turned to Spike.   
  
"You make it sound so noble, Red," he told her, a ghost of a smile etching into his features. After a moment, he threw down his cigarette and stomped it out. "But I want her back. We all do. I guess I can take one more for the team."   
  
The group glanced around at one another, and Spike nodded, staring down at his feet. He couldn't recall the last time he had been scared. He imagined that it had been the moment that Dawn had begun to bleed, and he understood that he had failed in his promise to Buffy. But now, Spike saw that he had a way to make it up to her. To make amends for his failure before. Without another word, the vampire joined Willow in the circle. Without a word, Willow slid down onto the ground cross-legged, a picture of Buffy in front of her. Spike stood facing Willow.   
  
"Give me your hand," Willow said, pulling a small dagger from her pocket. Kneeling, Spike extended an upturned palm to Willow, who calmly cut his hand open. Setting the knife aside, she turned Spike's palm over, and a few small drops of blood fell to the pavement left open between them. "I don't know what you're about to experience. All I know is that you'll have to find Buffy. Once you find her, I'll know it. And I'll open a portal...that's when you'll, well, y'know." Willow said to Spike. "Faith, Xander, I want you guys to head to the cemetery. You'll need to be ready when Buffy...er, comes back. Make sure you've got shovels."   
  
"Oh, God," Xander muttered as he realized what the shovels were actually for. "We're going to dig her up." Faith glanced at him, but said nothing. Without a word, she and Xander walked toward his car.   
  
Willow turned to Anya. "If something goes wrong...anything...then rip up the picture. I don't know what's going to happen. But...just in case."   
  
"Uh, Red?" Spike murmured, a strange sensation now overtaking him. Glancing down at his feet, he saw that the ground inside the designated circle was now glowing a brilliant color, not unlike the effect Dawn's blood had had over the night sky. His blood was flowing more freely now.  
  
"Gods of the night sky and of the dark rivers, I call upon thee to allow our guide to pass into your nether realm," Willow said loudly. Spike found himself growing dizzy as Willow spoke the words. "Open your gates and allow our pilgrim to pass unharmed, for his quest is noble and just. Give him safe guidance along your roads of darkness, and..."  
  
Spike blinked only once, yet found himself in a sudden whirlwind of sand, cold, and darkness. For a few moments he was spinning uncontrollably through time and space, unable to stop or comprehend what was happening around him. And finally, it all came to a screeching halt on the front lawn of the Summers home. Spike felt himself surrounded by blinding daylight, and he quickly overcame his urge to run for shade. It was a bright and sunny day, yet he found the street entirely deserted. It was a peaceful looking scene, one that felt familiar to him somehow. Yet along with this familiarity was a strong sense of dread, one that Spike simply could not ignore. Turning, he heard commotion within the Summers home, and he turned and ran inside.   
  
As he bolted inside, he was stunned to find the body of Joyce Summers lying on the couch, her eyes open wide and fixed on the ceiling. From elsewhere he could hear screaming and crying, many different terrified voices all melting down into one big pile of noise. After a moment, Spike heard the specific sound of the very voice that he longed to hear. Huddled in a corner, bloody knees pulled close to her chest, was Buffy. Her face was hidden from his view, and Spike knew that if his heart would beat, it would be pounding out of his chest. Buffy made herself as small as possible as she huddled there, and Xander saw all over her body the horrible signs of what she had been going through.   
  
"So this is Hell, then," he muttered, unable to express what he felt. This was Buffy's Hell. It all made sense...she hadn't been the same since her mother died, and the screams were those of her loved ones that she was now unable to protect. "Buffy." It was all he could find to say.  
  
"You think you can trick me," Buffy whispered, her voice raspy and raw from what Spike guessed was much screaming and crying. "You think I'll believe you."  
  
"Buffy, it's me," Spike muttered, sinking down to his knees before her. Buffy considered this for a moment, and lifted her head from her knees. Spike gasped, and his eyes went wide. Buffy's eyes were bruised, and one was swollen shut. Her face was cut and bruised, and her top lip was cut open entirely. All over her trembling hands were deep cuts, several of them apparently down to the bone. Buffy glanced up at him, her one usable eye cold and afraid. "Come on, we have to get you out of here." Buffy thought about this for a few moments, and finally allowed Spike to help her to her feet. Spike didn't know what hit him when it did. Before he could move or realize what was happening, Buffy was on him. In a flash he was on the ground on his back, and the Slayer was dropped down beside him, plunging a fireplace poker repeatedly into his chest. Spike screamed out in pain as the Slayer, wounded but still strong, continued to thrust her makeshift weapon into him. Spike could feel himself beginning to bleed, and he cried out again as Buffy brought the poker down across her forehead, breaking open the flesh there. Hot blood coursed down his face, and with a sudden flash of anger and determination, Spike kicked Buffy away.  
  
She hit the wall hard, and slumped down against it, out cold. Realizing what he had done, Spike flung himself limply to his feet, bleeding now from nearly a dozen wounds on his chest and a now swelling eye, coupled with what was probably a brand new concussion. Buffy was breathing, yet it was decidedly shallow. Quickly, sensing that something was wrong, Spike scooped the now defunct Slayer into his arms, and turned to leave. As he did, an unearthly growling shook the Summers living room. A sudden and inhumanly piercing cry rattled his eardreams, and Spike turned and fled, carrying Buffy along with him. He ran from the house, and he could hear splintering and thundering sounds behind him. Something was coming. Yet at the end of the Summers' driveway, there shined a bright and swirling light: Willow's portal. Mustering the last of his strength, Spike sprinted for the light, and just as he felt himself lose consciousness, stumbled through the portal.   
  
Buffy suddenly gasped. Opening her eyes, she found herself surrounded by darkness. It was unlike the darkness of death. Raising her hands suddenly, she realized that she was in a closed and dark space. After a moment, it registered: she was in a coffin. It took her a moment to realize that she couldn't breathe, and as this occurred to her, she began to scream. She screamed at the top of her lungs, terrified beyond all reason, as she suddenly realized that this wasn't real. This was all another torment, cooked up especially for her. She had killed the last demon, and now, the real torture began. Crying out in desperation and terror, Buffy pounded upon the lid of the coffin, and felt the wood break away as she did so. Using all of her strength and determination, she began to claw her way upward. As she moved through the layers of dirt, she began to hear muffled sounds above her. She swore that she could hear yelling, though her mouth, eyes, and ears were all filled with dirt. Exhausted and suffocating, Buffy began to give out. Just as the darkness of unconscious was creeping back in, a pair of hands grapped her around the shoulders, and yanked her upward.  
  
Buffy hit the ground hard, and the rush of oxygen was a sweet relief to her. Blinded by dirt, Buffy coughed and choked as she struggled to breathe. Her hands now bloodied and numb, she desperately wiped at the dirt which caked her face, and after a moment, she opened her eyes. Faith stared back at her. With sudden realization, Buffy launched herself blindly at the other Slayer. Faith cried out as she toppled to the ground, a filthy and feral Buffy assailing her. Buffy could hear shouting around her, but nothing else mattered. She had learned her lesson now: the demons came for her in all guises. She had killed Angel. Willow. Xander. Her own mother. And now, she would kill Faith as well, and the demons would leave her for a spell, restoring that sense of false hope that she had come to know and loathe. Buffy dealt several brutal punches to Faith's face, and the other Slayer cried out for help. To prevent this, Buffy latched her hands around Faith's throat, and began strangling the life out of the other Slayer.  
  
"Buffy!" So intent was she on killing Faith that Buffy was taken off guard when Xander and another pair of hands pulled her away from Faith, and back onto the ground. Scared and shocked, Buffy crawled away, and turned back to see a bloodied Spike and a frightened Xander glancing at her. Buffy glanced back and forth between her three assailants, and realized that this was the end. The demons had come for her. And she was going to lsoe.   
  
"Do it quick," Buffy struggled to say. She knew that they were going to rip her to shreds, and that would be the end. No more fighting, no more pain. Or maybe, just maybe, it would start all over again.   
  
"Buffy." Xander said her name again. Something changed this time. Buffy stopped suddenly, and her trembling ceased. Carefully, a sudden hope consuming her, she glanced up at this person that had once been her friend Xander. He was kneeling beside her now, his eyes locked with hers. In this moment, Buffy knew. This was no demon. This was Xander. His eyes spoke too much to be false, and this was the look of a young man who was seeing a lost loved one again. Buffy could only sit on the ground, stunned, staring at Xander for a moment. Without warning, she reached forward gently, and touched Xander's face. Her hands were as cold as death, but Xander refused to pull away. He understood what was happening. Spike limped forward, weak but joyous. Faith was now pulling herself up from the ground, hoping that another attack would not come. After a moment, Buffy took her hand away from Xander's face. Standing, Xander held out a hand to help Buffy up. Eyes brimming with tears, she took it and stood alongside him. The four stood together, knowing not what to say. It had worked. 


	3. Faith, Hope, and Spike

And I wanna believe you,  
  
When you tell me that it'll be okay,  
  
I try to believe you,  
  
But I don't  
  
When you say that it's gonna be,  
  
It always turns out to be a different way,  
  
I try to believe you  
  
Not today  
  
I don't know how I'll feel,  
  
Tomorrow  
  
I don't know what to say,  
  
Tomorrow  
  
Is a different day  
  
It's always been up to you,  
  
It's turning around,  
  
It's up to me,  
  
I'm gonna do what I have to do,  
  
Just don't  
  
Gimme a little time,  
  
Leave me alone a little while,  
  
Maybe it's not too late  
  
Not today (-Avril Lavigne, "Tomorrow")   
  
Upstairs in Buffy's room, Faith was careful to throw the few items of clothing and the frugal amount of money she carried into a small duffel bag that she had borrowed from Wesley back in Los Angeles. Downstairs, Buffy was sitting in the living room amongst her friends, probably still silent as she had been for a great while now. It was nearing dawn, and the sky was beginning to grow light. Dawn still had yet to awaken and find her sister alive and home, and Faith knew that it was over now. Zipping the duffel bag, she turned and glanced in the mirror. She had borrowed some of Buffy's clothes, and had left a bit of cash under the Slayer's pillow for reimbursement. She knew it was silly, but she felt like she at least owed Buffy that. That, and getting out of her life as quickly as possible. For three years she had been the trash that polluted the Slayer name, and now, with Buffy back, she could drop off the face of the earth forever. A thousand possibilities entered her head. She could go back to Boston, maybe get an apartment and a job, and start over. Faith wouldn't exist anymore...she could get a new name. She could be...Stacy. Or Jennifer. Or Helga, for all she cared! What mattered was the prospect of starting over! No more Sunnydale. No more vampires. No more death and pain and sadness, just a new beginning away from it all. Sure, she figured, she would slay if the occasion called for it. But for now, it was time to go.   
  
Brushing a piece of her hair back out of her face, Faith glanced in the mirror again. She had a bruise around her throat from Buffy's attack earlier in the night. Her eyes were slightly red from lack of sleep, but her hair was almost perfect. She felt awkward in Buffy's clothes, a black button down and jeans, but she looked normal enough. Stuffing the few hundred dollars that Angel had given her into her pocket, she turned. She knew at a moment like this that she could make a quick getaway out the back door in the kitchen, and no one would notice until she was gone. Turning, she gasped as she saw Spike standing in the doorway. He had bloody wounds all over his chest, and Faith marveled that Buffy had missed his heart during her attack in the other dimension. Spike was pale and sweating, and his coat was tattered and dirty. Yet he still stood tall in spite of this, his finely chiseled face full of realization and understanding.   
  
"Seems easier, doesn't it?" he asked her, eyes full of something that Faith couldn't easily make out. His expression was one that she could not read. "Get out of jail free, and now you're off the hook 'cause Big Sis's back? Don't think that's how it's meant to work, love."   
  
Ignoring his comment, Faith nodded to him: "You're bleeding."   
  
"That I am, then," Spike said, glancing down at his bloodied body. "Least she hasn't forgotten her duty."   
  
"Take off your shirt," Faith said as she brushed past Spike and walked across the hall to the bathroom. Spike glanced back over his shoulder.   
  
"I'm a bit worse for wear. I don't think I'm much for shagging right about now. May cause me to bleed to death, if it's possible. Maybe some other time," Spike said to her as she reappeared with an armful of bandages and a wet rag. Faith rolled her eyes as she slid back into Buffy's room, dumping the supplies on the bed. "I thought you didn't like helping people. All evil and apathetic and all that."   
  
"You want to keep bleeding?" Faith asked.   
  
"Why do you care?" Spike's gaze was fixed on the brunette Slayer.   
  
"Because everyone around here seems to have this big yen for you. And the way you looked at Buffy earlier, just seeing her alive...I saw it, Spike." Spike's head fell, and he stared at the floor. "She doesn't love you, does she. You're just...a thing to her. Something to be reckoned with, but never treated as a person. You do some good stuff, and at the end of the day, you're still just a...a thing." Faith's voice faltered as she said this, and Spike saw it. Yet he knew it was true. "I know how that feels, that's all." Her gaze hardened again, having let a bit of vulnerability shine through. "I don't care, I just relate." "It's works out well enough, then," Spike said. With that, Spike slid down on the bed and allowed Faith to nurse his wounds.   
  
Downstairs, Buffy couldn't help but shiver as she sat on the couch in the living room. She sat alone, for Willow, Xander, and Anya all sat or stood around her. There was an awkward silence over the room, and Buffy couldn't help but feel slightly withered and frightened by their awed and silent stares. Her vision was still swimming slightly, and her internal organs felt as though they were tying themselvs in knots. There was dirt under her fingernails, which were raw and bloody thanks to her efforts to claw through her coffin. She was bruised and her feet ached, thanks to the torments of the other dimension. Though she had left it behind, she still bore horrible signs of what had gone on there. She did her best to hide this from her silent friends. She felt dirty and in pain, as being awakened from death was a harsh and frightening reality. Sighing softly, she drew Xander's jacket more closely around what felt like her frail body. She felt weak and exhausted.   
  
"What was it like?" Anya broke the silence with her chirpy and articulate voice. "I mean, there are different dimensions of Hell, of course, and I imagine yours must have been particularly terrible. I imagine that you spent three days in a constant state of mental and physical anguish, and..." Though Xander and Willow wore shocked looks of disapproval, Buffy denoted beneath this a hint of curiosity about her situation.   
  
"I...I don't really remember," Buffy said suddenly. "I just want to-..."   
  
Buffy froze. Standing halfway down the stairs looking into the living room, eyes wide with shock and a bit of horror, was Dawn. The two sisters stared at each other, wearing identical expressions of awe, Dawn's of fear, and Buffy's of relief. Willow, Xander, and Anya all turned to stare at the younger Summers, who stood as still as a statue as her hand gripped the railing of the stairs. She swallowed, and said nothing. Neither sister could move. Buffy wanted to run to Dawn, to hold her and hug her and smell her hair and know that she was real. Dawn simply couldn't understand what was happening. Part of her was saying that Willow had merely fixed the Buffy Bot. Yet another part of her, a more childish and desperate part, believed that it was Buffy. Silently, Dawn came down the stairs and stood near the front door, staring at the dirty and bruised Buffy that sat on the couch, awkwardly hunched over and in pain. A thick and heavy silence hung over everything, and no one said a word. Dawn's heart pounded in her chest, and for a moment she thought she might throw up. Was she dreaming? Was this all another one of her nightmares, where at the end Buffy went back into the ground screaming and pleading for her life? Or maybe, just maybe, could this be reality? Slowly and cautiously, Buffy rose from her seat on the couch.   
  
Watching her sister walk with a slight limp toward her, Dawn noticed the smell of damp earth creeping toward her as well. Glancing down, Dawn saw the bruises that lined her sister's body, as well as her bloody and ripped fingernails. She glanced back up, silently noting the dirt and mud that clumped in her sister's once delicate and clean hair, and she understood: this was no dream, nor was it the Buffy Bot. This was Buffy, and for some reason she was back. Buffy stood before Dawn now, and watched silenly as her younger sister's eyes filled with tears. Seeing this, Buffy felt her own lower limp trembling, and as Dawn began to cry, she threw her arms around Buffy and hugged her close. Buffy felt the hot, wet tears before she could stop them. Dawn was here, alive and well. Her sister was alive and safe. The hardest thing in this world...is to live in it. Live, for me. Buffy's words echoed in Dawn's mind as she sobbed into her sister's damp and cold shoulder. Buffy sobbed into her sister's hair as the two held each other. Everything was coming back to them now, the pain of the past few years, everything. The death of their mother. The glowing and brilliant light at the top of that tower. Buffy's final plunge. All coming back in this hug at the bottom of the stairs. Buffy sank to the floor, her legs giving out, and Dawn didn't let go as she slid down beside her sister, still holding her.   
  
They stayed like this for a long while, until finally Dawn pulled away from her. "You're hurt," Dawn muttered, wiping her tears away. "We need to get you cleaned up."   
  
"I need to take a shower," Buffy said quietly, glancing down at herself. Dawn nodded, and said nothing as her sister hesitantly turned and went upstairs. Her gait was slow and almost painful to watch, and Dawn stared after her until Buffy disappeared up to the top of the stairs. Silently, Dawn turned to Willow, Xander, and Anya, who were all watching her, unsure of what to do next.   
  
"How?" Dawn asked softly, but behind this was masked a quiet sort of anger that the others detected instantly.   
  
Buffy dried her eyes at the top of the stairs, willing herself to pull it together. Seeing Dawn again had made her feel...more joy than she had ever known previously in life. Knowing that she had died so that Dawn might live and that her sister was safe brought her more satisfaction and fulfillment than anything else she had done as a Slayer. Killing the Master, saving the world from Angelus, blowing up the Mayor, killing Adam and saving her friends from the First Slayer, taking down a goddess, it was all nothing compared to seeing her sister alive. And now, she was here again. Pulled from that dark place back into the light, where she knew she belonged. Yet she couldn't think clearly...her thoughts were horribly jumbled and confused, and only when she saw Dawn did anything make any real sense. Part of her was still on edge, still full of fear, expecting the demons to come for her at any moment. And yet so far, things were normal. Her friends were there, her sister was alive. Everything seemed fine. Yet all in all, Buffy didn't feel fine. She regarded her bloodied fingernails for a moment as she turned to go into her bedroom, and froze as she saw Spike standing in the room, putting his tattered and muddy coat back on. Faith was sitting on the bed, a bloody cloth sitting in a bowl of water alongside her. The two parties regarded each other, and Spike avoided Buffy's eyes as he quickly exited the room. Buffy and Faith regarded each other silently. Buffy felt her confusion now clouded with anger and contempt. Faith felt uncomfortably and angry, though not necessarily with Buffy. She climbed to her feet quickly, and put her hands into her pockets. Buffy's pockets, since she was wearing Buffy's clothes.   
  
"How long?" Buffy asked quietly, never taking her eyes off of Faith.   
  
"What?" Faith asked. She wondered what Buffy meant.   
  
"How long was I gone?" Buffy said. "Everyone looks older. Dawns looks taller. You're out of jail, and you're here. How long was I gone? And what else has changed?" Faith understood suddenly...Buffy thought she had been dead for years, and now she was asking the one person who wouldn't spare her feelings what had happened in that time. Faith wasn't sure how Buffy was about to take what she was being told, and she found herself wondering what Buffy had been through in the past three days that made her unaware of the passage of time.   
  
"Three days," Faith muttered. "You've been gone three days." Buffy took this in with wide eyes, as though for a moment she was unable to comprehend what Faith was telling her. Three days. She had been gone three days. Glancing to the window, she saw that dawn was quickly approaching. Sighing, she closed her eyes for a moment, and she was back on that platform watching her last sunrise as Dawn sobbed and begged her not to jump. She could taste the whipping winds on her lips, and she could hear the terrible screeches of the demons that came forth from the portal. She could feel the warmth from the sunrise...it was supposed to be her last. Yet here she was, in her bedroom, watching the sunrise with an old enemy. Thinking of this, she turned back to Faith. "The Council...they tried to have me killed. Said they didn't want me taking up your slack. Angel..." Buffy snapped around at the mention of her old lover's name. "...he saved me, him and some friends. And they sent me here."   
  
"Is he...are they..." Buffy couldn't find the words.   
  
"They're all fine," Faith told her.   
  
"And you?" Buffy asked.   
  
"I want to leave," Faith said, and without another word, picked up her bowl and cloth and left Buffy standing alone in her bedroom.   
  
London, England   
  
Quentin Travers couldn't recall the last time he had been this furious. And if he could have, he knew that it more than likely would have been some time dealing with Buffy Summers. Yet either way, he found himself sitting in his office high above the rest of London, surrounded by other Watchers going about their business. The council had been uneasy for the past few days, thanks to a successful attempt by the current Slayer, Faith, to break out of jail. Stirring his tea, Travers laughed ruefully. She was out there somewhere this very instant, laughing at him and the Council. She had disgraced them and dragged them through the mud, and now she was the only Slayer that the Council had. The first attempt at killing her had failed thus far, and they were about to find out whether or not the second one would succeed. Sighing, Travers glanced at the list of names in front of him. All potential Slayers, all waiting for Faith to die so that the next rightful owner to the title could begin her quest to slayer vampires. At the top of the list were circled three names, those deemed most likely by the coven to become the next Slayer. One in Tokyo. On in Rome. And one, the one at the top of the list, in Los Angeles, California. This concerned Travers, for he dimly recalled the last incident in which a Slayer had been called from California.   
  
The girl before Buffy Summers, he recalled, had been a good Slayer. Very by the book, very thorough in her work. Her Watcher had been a good one as well, until the very last. Thinking about this, Travers was almost angry enough to toss his teacup across the room. It had been simple in the beginning, so very simple...one Cromwell in the Council's internal affairs, and her son watching a Slayer. He had been young, but he was good at what he did. But as Slayers tended to do, his hadn't lasted long, and he had come back to England soonafter, unhappy with the way the Council merely moved on. Buffy Summers had been called, her first Watcher promptly killed. Rupert Giles had been deployed next. And then, Kendra had been activated as well, and Sam Zabuto had stepped up to watch over her. And then Faith came along, and this was where the trouble truly began.   
  
This whole mess was almost enough for Travers to trade in his tea for alcohol. Faith was alive somewhere, and apparently, Buffy Summers's old flame was making sure that the Council couldn't find her. But then, he supposed, she couldn't hide forever. As he sat there, another team was on its way to attempt to take Faith out. Hopefully this time would be a bit more brutal and surprising.   
  
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices outside his office door. Sitting his teacup down on his desk, Travers stood, pulling his coat from the back of his chair and putting it on as he started toward the door. He had nearly made it to the door when it opened, and a girl stepped in. She looked no more than twenty, and her clothes were strangely casual for someone entering Council headquarters. For a moment she and Travers stared at each other. Her hair was strawberry blond and curly, and her eyes were a soft shade of blue. Her skin was fair, and a few freckles dotted her slim and lovely cheekbones. She smiles after a moment.   
  
"Mister Travers?" she asked. Travers noticed with suspicion that the girl spoke with a strong American accent, and had not air of a Watcher about her. As he surveyed the girl, he found a dim air of familiarity floating about his head. She stood, stone-faced, waiting. Travers looked more closely at her, and as the realization crept into his face and his mind, Travers felt a sudden and piercing pain in his stomach, accompanied by a hot, sticky wetness. Glancing down, he cried out as he saw the hilt of a knife sticking from his midsection, and the dark scarlet hue of blood staining his shirt in a pattern that grew wider with every passing moment. Smiling, the girl took hold of the handle of the dagger, and yanked it upward, feeling the tissue and flesh of the Watcher's stomach rip as he screamed out in wild and violent pain. Travers could feel the world around him beginning to swirl as he fell backward against his desk, and sank down to the floor in front of it. A pool of blood began forming beneath him, and he felt the darkness closing in as his body began to convulse in pain.   
  
"Meredith..." he managed to choke out, his voice little more than a hushed whisper as he felt his body shutting down. He sat there on the floor for several moments, listening as the blackness swirled more intently around him and his heartbeat lessened and lessened, like the call of a fading drum, until finally fading away into nothing as the darkness overtook him completely.   
  
The girl stood over the fallen Watcher, and calmly glanced down at the blood on her hand. Her smile faded, and she cautiously lifted her dirtied hand to her face, examining it closely. The thick and hot blood was a sharp contrast to her pale and milky skin, and she felt the hunger growing within her suddenly. Kneeling beside the body of Travers, she yanked the knife from his ripped flesh, and watched in fascination as the blood that coated the knife glinted in the overhead lights. After a moment of hesitation, she lifted the blade to her lips, and licked some of the blood from the cold, hard metal. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring this, and after a few seconds she stood, and strode around behind Travers desk, calmly sitting down and tossing her heels up onto the desk. Leaning back, she closed her eyes for a moment. She could feel the dead Watcher's blood coursing through her veins, and filling her with warmth. After a few moments of this, she went to work rifling through the drawers of Travers desk. It only took her a few moments to realize what she was looking for was right on top of the desk: the list that Travers had been looking over moments before she had arrived.   
  
Tucking this into the pocket of her jacket, she rose from the chair and crossed over and out of the office, leaving Travers' body behind. In the main reception area of the Watchers' Council, there stood a young woman with bright red hair. She stood, arms folded, waiting patiently, and her eyes lit up with a sort of maniacal glee when she saw her friend returning from the office with a small smile upon her face. Elsewhere in the building could be heard screaming and the sounds of fighting, and occasional final cries of death could be heard. The two women stood there together, listening triumphantly to the sounds of the Watchers' Council's final moments.   
  
An hour later, the city of London marveled as a prominent historical building in a rather upscale neighborhood burned to the ground while the fire brigades tried unsuccessfuly to end the blaze.   
  
Sunnydale, California   
  
Giles finally made up his mind around nightfall to go check up on things with the others. He had spent his entire day in his apartment, lying around watching old movies on television. He had given up on drinking himself into sleep, for he always awoke later with the strong urge to throw up and then pass out on the bathroom floor. So he gave up on this after a while, and made the decision to get himself cleaned up and make himself useful. The group at Buffy's house was no doubt on their third or fourth night of ordering Chinese or pizza or something of this sort, and he figured he could at least help out. Maybe later, he would join Faith and Cromwell for patrol. As he grabbed his car keys and headed out the door, Giles could feel that familiar ache in his chest beginning to grow once again. Each day passed slowly and painfully, and there wasn't a single minute that went by that he didn't think of Buffy. He knew that death came with being a Slayer; he had known that she wouldn't last forever. In the end she had been tired, and all the same she had more courage than he ever could, than anyone ever could. She had given her own life to save a world that had given her nothing but cruelty and rules that hurt her more than they helped. She had sacrificed her life to save a world that was against her.   
  
Giles knew all this, and he had known it all along. Buffy was different. Special, somehow. Past Slayers had been by the book. Thorough. Obedient. Buffy, when he met her, wanted nothing more than to put slaying vampires behind her, and deny her destiny. Eventually she had grown accustomed to her life as the Slayer in Sunnydale, and he had grown accustomed to being her Watcher. She had no regard for rules, or for what the Council thought was right. Over time, Giles understood why. At seventeen, she had lasted a year longer than most Slayers tended to. It was proof enough to him that something was being done correctly. And then she had taken out The Master, and she had died, only to be brought back by Xander. And then she had fallen for Angel, and he had destroyed her world. Giles looked back on this with pain as he often found himself haunted by the blank and lost expression on Jenny Calendar's face as she lay broken and limp in his bed, another victim of Angel's twisted and cruel campaign the ruin Buffy's life forever. Giles remembered going to the factory to take out Angel himself, only to be rescued by Buffy. I can't do this alone. Buffy's sob-filled words still held in his mind, and he had never forgotten them. She was the reason he hadn't given up that night, or ever. And then she had killed Angel, and disappeared. Giles had never known pain such as that, not knowing where Buffy was. For months he waited for her to show up on his doorstep, and when she finally did, it was the happiest day of the Watcher's life. She had been a hero by the end of high school, honored by her fellow classmates. And then she had gone to college, and for a time Giles couldn't help but feel useless. Buffy spent more time with college friends and with Riley, but in the end, the Scoobies had bound together to save the world again. And then Buffy had wanted to learn more about her power as the Slayer, something that fell by the wayside as Glory made her presence known. And then Buffy was gone.   
  
Giles sniffled softly as he drove lazily down the street. There was so much that Buffy still hadn't known...so much he sitll had to teach her. He would never have the chance now, and he regretted it all. She had so much power, so much potential, and now it was all over. Five years of work, pain, and tears, and what did he have to show for it? A lost "child", and the rest of his little "family" was imploding silently. Giles put this out of his mind as he pulled into the driveway of what had been Buffy's house, now occupied by Willow and Tara to secure Dawn's well-being. Stuffing his keys into his pocket, Giles sighed heavily as he climbed the front porch and knocked on the door.   
  
Tara opened the door a moment later, and Giles knew by the look on her face that something was wrong. Her eyes were clouded with worry and with a low-key sort of pain, and he couldn't help but feel as though she was silently begging for help. Without a word, she opened the door wider, and allowed Giles inside. Before he could say a word to the girl, she was gone, almost sprinting into the kitchen. The entire house felt strange, and Giles stood just inside the front door for a moment before he closed it softly. Turning, he glanced into the living room. David Cromwell was sitting in a chair near the fireplace, and he looked angry. Faith was standing behind her new Watcher, arms folded, head down. Dawn was standing with her back to him in the doorway. Giles could hear Xander's voice, but he couldn't see the boy.   
  
"...it wasn't all that dangerous. I don't think we should all be attacking Willow here. She did the right thing." Xander's voice was slightly angry.   
  
"But you can't know that!" Cromwell cried. "How could you possibly think that something like this was safe, let alone authorized? You cannot bend laws like this, it's not your place. You've channeled magick that is more deadly than any person on this planet is equipped to deal with. Have you any idea what you could have caused? You could have leaked demon dimensions into our reality. You could have...imploded the planet. You could have resurrected the wrong being!"   
  
"But I didn't." Giles heard Willow's voice, and he realized that something was indeed very wrong. Not wasting any more time, he moved to step into the living room.   
  
"Giles." He froze. He stood motionless between the living room and the front door for a moment, knowing that it couldn't possibly be. He turned slowly, as did Dawn, now aware of the Watcher, to see standing halfway down the stairs a rested yet troubled looking Buffy. Giles felt his entire body go numb with shock. For a moment Buffy avoided his eyes, and Giles couldn't help but feel as though he couldn't breathe. He stood, numb and astounded, unable to speak. Buffy glanced up at him, and did her best to hide her bandaged and still painful wounds on her hands. The others had fallen silent now, each of them aware of the Watcher's presence as he surveyed his once-fallen Slayer. Buffy descended the stairs silently, and threw herself into Giles's arms. Giles felt tears coming without even realizing it. Buffy tightened her grip around her Watcher, and refused to let go. A single tear fell down the Watcher's cheek as he held her, unable to think and unable to move. He didn't understand how or why, but she was alive. Buffy was alive.   
  
Finally Buffy pulled away from him, and silently wiped her eyes. She looked healthy and normal, like regular old Buffy. Yet Giles couldn't help but notice that she wore a sad and strange expression. Without a word, Buffy turned, seeing that all eyes were now on her. She glanced down at her feet for a moment.   
  
"I'm gonna get some air. I'll be...outside." Her eyes shifted from person to person as she spoke, and without giving anyone a chance to reply, Buffy was out the front door.   
  
Giles watched her go, and then turned back to the others. Dawn appeared shifty and frustrated now, and her arms were folded across her chest. Faith was still doing her best to avoid Giles's eyes, and she was now slowly crossing back and forth from one side of the room to the other. Cromwell was stone faced and angry, and as Giles walked into the living room, he saw Willow and Xander seated together on the couch. Willow was looking down at her hands, and Xander was glancing around at the others. The silence in the room was unbearable.   
  
"How?" Giles asked softly, removing his glasses and cleaning them with his shirt as he glanced around the room. "Why don't we ask Miss Rosenberg about that, Mister Giles?" Cromwell asked, shooting Willow an angry look. Willow glanced up at the young Watcher, a look of utter contempt stretched across her tired face.   
  
"It wasn't just her, buddy," Xander shot back, coming to Willow's defense. "A whole bunch of us got involved, including your Slayer there." Xander nodded to Faith, who had said nothing this entire time. Cromwell paused and glanced back at Faith, who was standing near Dawn now. Faith stared at Xander for a moment, and then turned to meet her Watcher's slightly surprised gaze. "So don't go getting all high and mighty on us."   
  
"We didn't do anything wrong," Willow began, cutting off Cromwell as he opened his mouth to speak. Willow glanced around the room. Tara and Anya had made a hasty exit earlier, and she was unsure of where they now hid. Tara had been absolutely at a loss when she awakened earlier in the day to discover a very alive, albeit confused, Buffy. All day, Tara had carefully avoided Willow's words and glances, and had kept to herself. Willow wasn't sure that Tara had said a single word the entire day. Which was probably, she decided, of little difference, because everyone else had been talking twice as much today, giving her a pounding and ferocious headache. Every few minutes she would feel a little dizzy, and she would steady herself silently. So far, no one had noticed that something was ailing Willow, and this relieved her to no end. It would have given the plucky and obnoxious new Watcher even more ammo against her if she admitted that she didn't feel all that well. And yet at the same time, she felt powerful. While Spike had battled within the dimension to retriever Buffy, Willow found herself with more power at her disposal than she'd had in a great while. It was the same feeling, she recalled, that she'd had when she had given Angel back his soul. As though she wasn't really the one doing the magic, but instead acting as a vessel for a higher power. Whether that power was wholly good or not, she still couldn't decide.   
  
Willow glanced at Giles. Almost six years she had known this man, and never once had he doubted her. She often looked fondly back on the beginning, back in high school. How she had looked up to Giles, and had known how much she had to learn from him. She had looked at him with a child's admiration then, as she still sometimes did. But with age came knowledge of her own. And she decided the minute that David Cromwell saw Buffy that no matter what, she wasn't going to let him turn everyone against her. No Watcher that was barely old enough to shave was going to step on Willow's toes, that much she knew.   
  
"Then what did you do, Willow?" Giles asked, turning to her. The others turned to Giles, waiting for him to react in some other way than his reserved state of calm. He was obviously still reeling from the shock of seeing Buffy alive, but his mind was obviously weighed down by other things. Willow glanced around at her cohorts.   
  
"We brought her back," Willow said softly. "I found a spell in one of Tara's books, one that was a little difficult, but not much trouble. And I managed to open up the dimension where I'd located Buffy, and we sent someone in to get her." Giles stared at Willow silently.   
  
"Tell him who you sent, Miss Rosenberg, please," Cromwell said softly, "I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear that you let an evil and soulless vampire into that dimension to find your friend."   
  
"Man, why don't you shut the hell up?" Everyone turned. Faith was standing away from her Watcher, wearing a look that suggested that not one person in the room could stop her if she was going to go on a rampage right about now. Cromwell turned to glance at the Slayer, who stepped forward suddenly. "You act like a kindergartener, busting your ass to make teacher happy. Get a life, dude. Get laid. Something. Whatever's in your bottle that needs uncorking, work it out." Everyone waited, and Faith stopped. She stood there motionless for a moment, unsure of what to say. She had spent more than a year in prison, learning to control her anger. And now, for the first time in quite a while, it was about to bubble over. Not just with Cromwell, but with everything and everyone.   
  
"You sent Spike into a demon dimension?" Giles spoke up before Faith could truly lose her temper. There was a note of anger in his voice, and only Xander fully picked up on it. Faith had retreated to her spot near the door, and was staring daggers at the young Watcher. Willow was staring at Giles, waiting for some sort of response. "I thought you would have shown better judgement than that."   
  
"Judgement? Giles, something had to be done. We couldn't just...leave her there. We need her!" Willow said earnestly. "I know we have Faith here, but there's no telling how long she'll go without snapping and killing us all. I think she just demonstrated that well enough. We need Buffy."   
  
"And you broke every law of nature and magick to get her here. Do you have any idea what kind of rules you've broken, what lines you've crossed?" Giles asked her.   
  
"Hey, here's an idea," Xander snapped. "Let's all gang up on Willow!"   
  
"I'd say the occasion calls for it!" Cromwell shot back. "You sit here defending her as though she saved a baby from a fire! But she ripped a human soul out of a dimension she knew nothing about, all so she could sleep better at night!"   
  
"You don't know the first thing about this," Dawn spoke up. She had been silent for a long while; she had been silent for most of the day. And now, she stood at the coffee table, a safe distance between the arguing parties, arms folded across her chest in an angry yet strong sort of way. "You don't know the first thing about Buffy, or Willow, or even Faith." This was directed to Cromwell, who sat perfectly still, looking absolutely furious. "I thought maybe you guys could handle this like mature adults. But you guys keep arguing and blaming stuff on each other, and I don't understand why. Buffy's back. Shouldn't that be all that matters?" Dawn glanced around the room. "You guys have your best friend back." She nodded to Willow and Xander. "You have your Slayer back." She glanced at Giles. "And I have my sister back. And maybe Faith can be off the hook a little now."   
  
"Amen to that, Mini B," Faith said quietly. No one heard her, at least they pretended not to.   
  
Outside, Buffy sat on the bench on the front porch, knees hugged close to her chest. Wet tears threatened at the corners of her eyes, and her chest felt tight and hot with anger and fear. She had heard it all, and everyone's words were sticking with her. She didn't know what to do when the Scooby Gang fought. She hated it when Giles and Willow came to blows. Three days she had been gone, and in that time the entire world as she knew it had been thrust violently upside down, and she hated it. Constantly playing in her mind were the painful fights with demons, each wearing the face of one of her loved ones. And now, she was back in her world, the real world, and she felt more lost here. It was a cool night, unusually cool for the end of the summer, and Buffy closed her eyes for a moment to listen to the chirping of nearby crickets. Detecting a noise a moment later, she opened her eyes to see Spike standing at the base of the front steps, stamping out a cigarette on the ground. She could tell that his wounds were healing already.   
  
"Bad time, Slayer?" Spike asked, slowly and hesitantly climbing the steps to join Buffy on the porch. "Sounds like Red's under the magnifier. Over what we did?" Spike leaned against one of the porch's columns. Buffy looked at him. "Easier to be out here, isn't it."   
  
Buffy glanced at the vampire. "I'm not exactly sure what's easier," she told him softly. "I just know that it's a little quieter out here."   
  
"That's the way I see it," Spike said, slowly climbing the steps to join the Slayer. Buffy glanced down at her hands for a moment, still rather raw from her bout with her coffin not too long ago. Time had gone by slowly in these hours, and she could tell little difference between minutes and hours. She felt as though she had been awake for centuries. She felt old and tired, something that she knew Spike could identify with. Spike hesitantly slid down alongside Buffy on the bench that rested on the porch. Detecting the tears that were now subsiding in her hazel eyes, Spike sighed. "You all right?"   
  
"Yeah." Buffy's voice sounded distant and hollow, and she found herself gazing at the visible wounds that she had inflicted upon Spike. The vampire didn't notice, as he busied himself by staring out at the dimly lit street in front of them. "I hurt you." Her voice was soft and barely audible, and Spike glanced at her after a moment.   
  
"Didn't matter. You did what you had to do, saving your sister and the world. Blood of the lamb and all that. You jumped because you had to, and no one blames you. Hurting me means nothing, because you saved the world...again." Spike's eyes wrinkled as he smiled softly. "Those three days were the longest of my life, but you died for a reason."   
  
"I meant your cuts," Buffy said plainly.   
  
"Oh."   
  
Los Angeles, California   
  
"So this is the kitchen. We use it sparingly, as you can tell. None of us are big on cooking," Wesley said as he turned on the lights of the hotel's kitchen. Behind him stood Fred, who mousily busied herself by tucking her behind her ears. She was silent and jumpy to this point, and Wesley knew that it was understandable. It was hard to say what the girl had experienced in Pylea, and he wasn't sure that she would ever fully recover from her experiences. Yet something made him hopeful that she would, and by staying with Angel and company, he knew that perhaps he and the others could help her. Not at the moment, of course, because Angel had maintained a silent and sad demeanor ever since Willow Rosenberg had appeared inside the hotel to deliver the news about Buffy Summers. The souled vampire seemed quite heartbroken, and Wesley knew the truth. Even two years later, Angel still loved Buffy Summers. And now, she was gone from his life forever. Pushing this from his mind, Wesley nodded to the refrigerator near the corner. "And of course we have Gunn's favorite commodity, the fridge. Fully stocked with fat filled treats. Over there, a microwave. Great for Hot Pockets." Wesley managed a weak smile.   
  
"There's something wrong with Angel, isn't there. Something happened to a girl. And now he's even more brooding than before," Fred said quietly, dismissing the kitchen items quickly. She was hungry, yes, but more importantly, she desperately wanted to know her rescuers. She wanted to make friends, silly and childish as it was. She was fascinated by Angel, the vampire with the soul. She was intrigued by Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, the dashing young Englishman. She was slightly unnerved by Charles Gunn, the rough around the edges young black man. She badly wanted a connection with Cordelia Chase, the young woman with the visions, and former princess of Pylea. Wesley studied Fred's face for a moment, unable to think of what to say.   
  
"It's complicated," was all he could think to reply. Fred stared at him for a moment.   
  
"Angel lost a dear friend a few days ago. And he will more than likely never get over it completely."   
  
"Sounds like more than a friend to me," Fred said.   
  
"At one time she was. And now she's gone, and that's not the sort of thing Angel can merely deal with, and then forget about. He loved her very much. Right until the end, I'd believe."   
  
Sitting alongside Gunn in the lobby of the Hyperion, Cordelia felt restless. Too much had gone one in the past few days, and for the first time in a great while she had nothing other to do than just sit, drinking soda and listening to music as the night dragged on and on. Taking another drink of root beer, Cordelia cast a sidelong glance to Gunn, who was busying himself by sharpening a stake silently. Angel had been locked away in his office all day, and hadn't said a word. From what Cordelia understood, he hadn't slept and he hadn't fed. He had merely been sitting. She knew deep down that he had known that one day Willow would show up with that news, and that he would have to deal with the death of the Slayer. Cordelia had given this much less thought. Yet at the same time, she was sad. She had spent all of her time in Sunnydale being a mean rich girl, and along the way she had come to scorn Buffy because of the company she kept. And even so, Buffy had been compassionate. Eventually, they had become friends, in their own strange and dysfunctional way. A family, almost. And now, Buffy was gone. Cordelia hadn't seen her in a great while, and yet she still remembered Buffy well. Their first meeting, the death of Jenny Calendar, the Slayerfest that she had battled through alongside Buffy, all of it. And part of her missed those simpler, nightmarish days.   
  
It came in an instant, in that painful and biting way that it always did. Francis Doyle's lasting gift to Cordelia Chase, visions that were like a migraine with a few accompanying snapshots, ripped through Cordelia's brain suddenly and painfully. Crying out Cordelia jerked back, and Gunn jumped, startled, as Cordelia's glass of root beer fell to the floor and shattered, and Cordelia jerked around for a few moments before the seizure-like motions passed, and Cordelia was left gasping for breath. When she opened her eyes again, they were wide and stunned.   
  
Angel sat alone in his office, surrounded only by silence and a thick air of grief and guilt. Two years ago he had left Buffy standing in the road alongside what remained of Sunnydale High School. She had been so beautiful and young in that moment. Her whole life had been ahead of her. Her face was smudged and cut, and she wore a look of sad acceptance on her face as she had walked with Xander and then Giles through the maze of firetruckes and policemen. She, Buffy Summers, no more than eighteen, had destroyed another attempt at an apocalypse. She had seen too many by the end of high school, and she wore each bruise and scar with pride nonetheless. She had been powerful and confident that day, and Angel had loved her still. He had stood for a moment in the midst of the smoke and chaos, and their eyes had met. They had said their goodbyes silently, without a final kiss or a final word. And then he had gone, weeping as he drove out of Sunnydale for what he thought would be the last time. He had never wept like this in his life.   
  
And then a vision from Doyle had sent him back to Sunnydale. Buffy had been in danger, and he had watched her silently and stealthily, speaking with her friends and her Watcher but never with Buffy herself. She had seemed weary and older by this point, and desperate for some sort of connection with those around her. She had been obsessing about Thanksgiving this time, understandably wanting some sort of order in her new "adult" life as a college student and a Slayer. And then she had come to Los Angeles, and it was this that pained Angel most. She had found him out after he left, and she gave him what he would always remember as the most painful moments of his life.   
  
For a short while, he had tasted freedom. He had tasted that chance at a normal life with Buffy, as a normal human with his slightly abnormal girlfriend. He remained that strange sensation of a heartbeat in his chest after more than two centuries, and the way it felt to hold Buffy in his arms without worrying about the loss of his soul. There were other memories that went with this, but mostly, there was Buffy. And then this he had allowed to be torn away from him. He had seen Buffy after that both as she chased Faith into Los Angeles and when her mother died. After the death of her mother had been the last time she had seen him. He remembered with pangs of pain the taste of her lips and his sense of her desperation. She wanted to know what tomorrow was supposed to be like. How she was supposed to behave. Angel was wondering the same thing now.   
  
His thoughts were interrupted as Cordelia burst into the office, her skin white and her eyes wide. Wesley was close on her heels, and both were grave and shocked expressions.   
  
"Now isn't really a good time. I'd kind of like to be..." Angel began.   
  
"It's Buffy." Cordelia cut him off quickly. Cordelia saw a flash of something in Angel's eyes that she had never seen before, and it could only be either pure and utter joy or all out terror. Angel swallowed, unable to speak, and asked her with his eyes to continue.   
  
"Now we don't have all the details, but-..." Wesley began.   
  
"Tell me," Angel said, cutting him off.   
  
"Angel, something's happened that we...didn't expect." Cordelia said softly, unsure of how Angel would react.   
  
Buffy wasn't exactly sure what had possessed her to volunteer to join Faith on patrol, and she wasn't exactly having the time of her life on this night. She didn't doubt that the Scooby Gang was back at her house fighting while Spike hovered around outside the house smoking. No doubt by this point Dawn had retreated to her room, and was busy listening to whatever boy band CDs she could find to drown out the noise. Tara had probably retreated to her room as well, and was probably doing her best to drown out the sounds by covering her ears with her hands. Buffy didn't doubt that the others were still arguing, particularly Willow and Xander versus the two Watchers. Buffy sighed heavily as she walked alongside the other Slayer, the one whom she despised so much. Faith seemed to be concentrating a bit too hard on the darkness that surrounded them.   
  
"You seem involved," Buffy muttered, her voice full of haughty observance. Faith glanced at her for a moment, but said nothing as they continued to walk. "Don't recall you being this mellow the last time we patrolled together."   
  
"That was a long time ago," Faith said softly.   
  
"Yeah, and you were still playing Benedict Arnold at the time, too. It's hard to hide guilt when you're being quiet, I suppose," Buffy told her. Faith said nothing to this.   
  
"I'm not here to fight," Faith said.   
  
"That's interesting, because that's what I thought a Slayer was supposed to do. Or has that gone and changed on me in just a few days too?" Faith glanced at her. "I come back, and everything's different. Willow and Tara are boarding at my house. You're out of jail and playing Slayer. There's a new Watcher in town who frankly seems about as stable and capable as the good Doctor Lecter. Everyone's fighting. I was gone for three days, and this is what I come back to? It's not exactly the best welcome home present I've ever gotten."   
  
"That's not my problem, B. I don't want anything to do with this miserable little town. Life was good for me before I made the mistake of coming here, before I made the mistake of looking for you. And you think I'm any happier to be here than you are?" Faith shot back. Here was one of those old parts of Buffy she had hated: the unjustified complaining.   
  
"You don't know what I went through." Buffy's voice rang cold. "You think I'm not happy to be back?"   
  
"All I'm saying is that for someone who supposedly went through unspeakable torment in a hell dimension, you don't seem to happy to be out." Faith stopped, and turned to Buffy. "If it were me, I'd be turning cartwheels on the lawn, having just escaped Hell. But here you are, same old B. Always with the pity and the weight of the world bit."   
  
Buffy could feel that old anger bubbling up inside her once again as she glared at Faith, and managed to say through clenched teeth, "Well you're not me, F. You don't know what I've been through. And since when do you care how I'm feeling? You didn't care when you tried to turn Angel against me and get him working for the Mayor. You loved that, I remember."   
  
"That was a long time ago," Faith murmured. Of everyone in the Scooby Gang, it was Buffy who was the most justified in her anger and hatred. Faith knew that she had done horrible things to Buffy and to her family, and that Buffy would probably never forgive her. Still, Buffy's words hit her hard.   
  
"Or when you tried to kill Willow. My best friend. And Xander too, don't forget about that. And then you tried to kill Angel. You're a killer, Faith, and nothing else. You love being a Slayer because it gives you an excuse to take lives. But it wasn't enough, was it? You didn't see that line between being a Slayer and being a killer." Buffy's words were cold and came quickly.   
  
"Oh, and you think you're different?" Faith said. Counting to ten and "What Would Buffy Do?" weren't going to stop her now. That white hot anger that she had once known all too well was now surging through her once again as she stepped closer to the shorter Slayer. Buffy didn't step away, and her gaze further hardened as she watched the brunette Slayer closely. "You tried to gut me, remember? You would've killed me and fed me to Angel, and you know it."   
  
"And you would've killed me if you'd had the chance. You would have destroyed every one that I loved, all because you were too jealous of me to see past it all. You had no family, so you tried to kill mine. You didn't have a man, you try to steal mine. You don't trust people, you hurt my friends. What makes you different now?" Buffy struggled to restrain her urge to punch Faith in the face.   
  
"You're right. I was jealous. And now I get it. I come here because Angel sends me, and I see how things are here. Being the only Slayer blows, I get that. And now I see it. You took that plunge off that tower, and you said it was because you loved Little Sis. But you know what I think? I think you wanted it all along. You wanted to rest, and you wanted to dump this all on me. Because you're too self-centered to worry about-..." Faith's tangent was cut short as Buffy punched her in the jaw. Faith's head snapped to one side, and the assaulted Slayer froze. Her body went numb with that old rage, and for a moment she was back on that rooftop, handcuffed to Buffy and desperate for an escape and a victory. Without a word, Buffy turned and began walking away from Faith. Faith stood there for a moment, stunned and angry. Buffy was about a three yards away from Faith when she heard it: sailing through the air with a soft whistle directly toward Faith was some sort of dart. Without warning, Buffy ran and tackled Faith to the ground just as the dart whirled by where the brunette Slayer's neck had been moments before.   
  
Both women fell to the ground, Faith grunting and cursing as she hit the earth. Buffy gasped and lay there for a moment: she could hear voices calling out around them, and she jumped back to her feet as Faith, dazed, climbed to her feet as well. Faith went to say something, but Buffy hushed her with a silently raised hand. They were not alone in the cemetery, and Buffy was beginning to get the distinct feeling that they were being hunted. A moment later, she spotted the culprit. Tucked down low behind a crypt was a man dressed in black. At this moment Buffy felt her Slayer senses beginning to repair themselves, and she saw them all: there were five men visible in the immediate area, each with a gun. And they didn't seem friendly.   
  
"Run," Buffy whispered softly to Faith.   
  
"What? Why?" Faith asked, perplexed.   
  
"Just...run." Buffy said. The two Slayers sprinted out of the cemetery amidst shouts from behind them, and they could hear the snapping of twigs as their hunters scurried along behind them. Buffy felt odd, using her body again like this, when for the past three days she had been lying in a grave. She ran as fast as she could, she and Faith, across the street and over a fence and into the backyard of a hapless elderly couple watching TV, all the while listening for those men that chased them. As Faith ran alongside Buffy she understood: the Council was on her trail again. But this time, Angel and his friends weren't here to protect her. Faith gasped for air as she and Buffy finally made it back to Buffy's street, and the two Slayers sprinted up the driveway and up the steps quickly. Buffy flung open the door and Faith followed.   
  
Slamming the door and locking it, Buffy whirled. Giles was standing in the doorway, looking confused. Willow was now standing near the fireplace, and Xander was still on the couch. Cromwell was nowhere to be found, nor were Dawn, Tara, or Anya. Those present turned to stare at the two Slayers, sweating and gasping for air. Buffy turned to her Watcher.   
  
"I think the Council just found out where Faith's-..."   
  
Buffy's words were interrupted when the sound of a door busting open blasted through the room. The entire group leapt to its feet, and Buffy glanced back at Faith, unsure of what to do. Giles's eyes narrowed, and he hurried to the weapons trunk in the living room, and Willow and Xander hurriedly followed after him. Buffy stood near the front door for a moment, unsure of what to do. The Council wanted Faith. Sunnydale had no use for her. What made more sense than handing Faith over to someone that could deal with her? The Council would almost certainly dispose of her, and while a little extreme, Buffy knew that it was probably the best thing. Yet something made her stop when she considered this, for she knew that perhaps it was a little much. Buffy could only stand for a moment and watch as Spike entered from the kitchen, looking flustered.   
  
"We have to mount up. Now." Spike's voice was full of equal parts excitement and concern. "There's a caravan of soldier types outside looking to party. And they don't look like they're here to spread the word of the Lord, either." Spike glanced into the living room, where Giles was already distributing weapons. "Good, then. You already know about them."   
  
No one had a chance to reply, for suddenly the glass of the windows in the living room violently shattered as a man carrying a large pistol crashed through the window, tucked himself into a roll, and landed on the floor near the coffee table. Without hesitation Giles flung a small ax at him, and the man screamed as he fell over backward, ax embedded in his arm, pinning him against the floor. Upstairs Buffy could hear sudden screaming: Dawn. Leaving Faith and Spike to fend off attackers downstairs, Buffy found herself rushing up the stairs as fast as her legs could carry her, all the while praying that Dawn was all right. Stumbling as she made it to the top of the stairs, Buffy slammed into a short man wielding a rather large knife. Reacting quickly, Buffy slammed her knee into the man's stomach and flung him down the stairs, and watched as Spike promptly punched the man, knocking him unconscious. Buffy sprinted to Dawn's room and flung open the door, and found her sister lying on the floor, crumbled in a sleeping heap: she had a dart sticking out of her neck.   
  
Tara tried to scream but failed as she struggled to wrench herself free of the stranger's grasp. A man in a ski mask and high-tech looking black clothes had crashed through her window moments ago, and not being one for fighting, Tara found herself basically defenseless. The stranger covered her mouth with his hand while he attempted with his other to handcuff her to the lower part of the bed post. Tara squirmed, almost succeeding to get free of him, but found herself unable to. She tried to scream again, but still could not. A moment later, there was a shattering sound, and the man fell away. Glancing up, Tara found herself staring into the face of Anya, who moments before had been in the bathroom. Tara glanced at the remnants of the large oriental vase that had once belonged to Joyce Summers which now lay beside the head of the unconscious attacker, and climbed to her feet shakily.   
  
"I've always wanted to do that," Anya said absently. "The whole house is under siege. Being useless as we are, I believe it would be our best bet to remain, as always, locked away in the bathroom, where no one would ever think to look for..."   
  
"Where's Willow?" Tara interrupted.   
  
Willow screamed as one of their attackers came toward her, knife drawn, a stern frown stretched across his face. Giles was doing battle on the other side of the room, and Xander was unconscious on the floor as a result of a gun butt to the head. That same guy had then gone searching through the house, leaving Xander with a head wound on the floor. Willow blindly searched for something to defend herself: her own weapon, a crossbow, had been lost early on, and she had reacted with much screaming and running and ducking. Now, she was cornered against the fireplace, and she had nowhere to go. She stood there, and for a brief moment she thought she was going to die. And then, it came to here.   
  
"Conicere!" Willow cried, flinging her hand up. To both her surprise and that of he who held the gun, he went flying backward and slammed against the man who battled with Giles. Both men slammed against the wall, knocking pictures to the ground with them. Both gave unconscious groans of pain as they slid down against the wall, leaving Willow to stand with a shocked and outstretched, albeit trembling, hand. Giles turned to her, stared incredulously for a moment, and said nothing. After a moment, Willow lowered her hand and rushed to Xander's side.   
  
Faith knew it was cowardly and terrible, but she ran. As she watched Spike fend off another attacker, she had bolted. She had no place here. Her being here had caused this, and she understood that. There was no time to retrieve her borrowed clothes, and she would just have to wing it, she knew. She had to get out of Sunnydale, and it had to be now. She couldn't be responsible for the destruction of the Scooby Gang, she just couldn't. Not after everything that had happened. She ran through the dining room and made it to the kitchen, and it was there that she found her new Watcher, David Cromwell, in the process of beating one of the attackers about the head with his own gun. The man was unconscious already, and bleeding.   
  
"Dude, what the hell?" Faith cried, horrified and more than a little surprised. "He's out cold. Give it a rest."   
  
"Why bother? He'd do the same to me if he had the chance. Wouldn't you, Nigel?" Cromwell knelt beside the bloodied man, who was wavering back into consciousness now. "Tell her what a swell fellow you are. Tell her how you feel about me. And Mister Giles. And Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. You'd kill us all if you could, right?"   
  
"Please..." Nigel begged, spitting out blood as he struggled to form the words. Faith stepped around to see exactly how much damage her "Watcher" had done, and she knew straight away the the man had at least some broken fingers, quite possibly some missing teeth. "...don't..." Nigel continued to struggle.   
  
"Give me the gun," Faith said. She stared at the young Watcher, who had traces of blood on his hands. Buffy's words suddenly echoed in her head, but a moment too late, as she recalled it. Deputy Mayor Alan Finch had died, and her blood had been on his hands. Faith shook it away quickly, and moved quickly in knocking the gun from the Watcher's hand. "What's your problem? You're supposed to watch over a Slayer, not play Serpico." Without a word Cromwell brushed past her and out of the kitchen, back into the living room to join whatever fight was left. Faith stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do with herself. Finally, cursing under her breath, she went back to help the others. Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow she would leave.   
  
Buffy slid down onto the couch alongside Willow, who had just finished picking the shards of glass off of the furniture. Xander had yet to go to work on fixing the windows, as he was too busy sitting in a chair allowing Anya to nurse his brand new head wound. It wasn't major, really, just painful. Buffy sighed wearily as she watched Anya wrap gauze around Xander's head. Tara was sitting nearby, fidgeting with her hands. She had a bruise on her wrist, but seemed unscathed otherwise. Giles was pacing near the fireplace. Spike had long gone, once again thankless and with a cigarette in his mouth. He had said goodnight to Buffy claiming that he'd now had his "daily spot of violence", and could now go out for a drink. Dawn was upstairs sleeping off whatever sleeping drug had been in the dart with which she had been shot. Faith was upstairs in the shower, and the other Watcher was in the kitchen on the phone: he had been that way for nearly an hour.   
  
Buffy was exhausted. It was as though the forces of darkness already knew she was back. The Council had come at them full force, and now all of them were on their way to the Sunnydale General Hospital, where not one of them would say a word about what had happened for fear of exposing the Council. Such was the trend, and Buffy knew that it would hold up flawlessly.   
  
"I'm beginning to ask myself how many times this place has been trashed," Buffy said softly. "I'm beginning to feel how Mom felt when some demon crashed through that door. Ever splintered piece of wood, I hear a cash register making that annoying little clanging noise."   
  
"We'll fix it, Buffy. Don't worry," Willow told her friend. "Just after a nice, long nap. And possibly some drugs."   
  
"I know, Will," Buffy told her.   
  
"Buff, are you okay?" Willow asked suddenly.   
  
Buffy turned to her: "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"   
  
"You seem a little...distant. Are you okay?" Willow studied her friend closely.   
  
"I'm fine. I'm still a little thrown off, and a little dazed. Nothing a little sleep and peace and quiet can't fix. And besides...now I know I'm not in Hell anymore, because the bad guys had little interest in me." While she meant it as a joke, just to keep things light,   
  
Buffy could see the effect these words had on her friends. Giles stopped his silent pacing and stared at his Slayer. Xander and Anya both glanced at her, waiting for more. Tara looked down at her feet, and Willow's eyes went slightly wide. For a moment no one moved: it was as though this entire time they had all been fearing that Buffy would not speak of her ordeal again, and now here she was joking about it. Though none had the courage to ask, all wanted to know what it had been like. They all waited patiently, staring at Buffy silently, making the Slayer feel about three inches tall. As Buffy opened her mouth to speak, her front door opened.   
  
All eyes were on Angel as he quietly entered. 


End file.
